


Risk and Reward

by DayenuRose



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Dark Thoughts, Depression, Epiphanies, F/M, Fight Aftermath, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, Injury, Kissing, Missions, Revelations, Serious Injuries, Touching, Vulnerability, actually 6 things, argument, flight, random X-men, thieves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-07-24 19:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayenuRose/pseuds/DayenuRose
Summary: There's an old adage that goes, the greater the risk, the greater the reward. As a thief, Remy LeBeau knows full well that oftentimes the greatest risks come with the greatest rewards. When he starts to fall for the enigmatic Rogue, Remy must decide if the risks are worth the possible reward.Or,Six times Gambit risks kissing Rogue and one time he earns his reward.





	1. Kiss for Luck

“Gambit, Rogue, you’re Team A.” Storm pointed at the two outlier X-men that stood slightly separate from the rest of the team. “I want you to take the east entrance. Quietly. The rest of us will be Team B. We will run interference over at the southwestern gate while you sneak in, get the information, and get out before they realise our true purpose.”

“Oui, mon capitaine.” Gambit winked saucily and gave Storm an impertinent grin.

The others on the team shifted in place, slightly uncomfortable with their newest teammate and his infernal cheek. Then again, he mused, they never knew Stormy as the brazen young thief like he had. The only one not to cast him a wary sidelong glance was Rogue. Instead, she wrapped her arms tightly across her middle and tucked her hands safely under her arms. Everything about her screamed ‘keep away,’ which only made him want to draw closer and figure her out.

Stormy cast him that look of hers that could bring the whole team of bickering superheroes to a standstill. Lesser mortals would quake in their boots at that look, but not Gambit. He continued to grin, because he recognized the ghost of an amused grin tugging at the corner of Storm’s lips. With a subtle shake of her head, she kept Gambit in place long enough to finish giving her orders. “Team A, we will give you a ten minute head start. Remember, quickly and quietly.”

For a moment Gambit stood half confused and possibly a slight bit offended. Never in his life had he needed to be reminded to be stealthy. While his mutant powers might be rather explosive, he was still first and foremost a thief.

Then, he caught sight of his partner. Rogue was already making her way towards the east gate mere feet off the ground in a low flight. Ahh...that’s what Stormy had meant. Rogue was flying low enough that no one would probably notice, but if you were caught strolling through places you didn’t belong, it was a lot easier to explain that you simply got lost on a jog than why you could fly. Still, she cut a mighty fine figure as she skimmed above the ground.

His gaze lingered on the close fitting green and yellow uniform that emphasised her curves and the leather bomber jacket that served as another layer of protection from the world. He wanted to run his fingers through her mane of wild chestnut curls and get lost in that white streak of hers. And, though he couldn’t see her face from this angle, he could picture the snap of her green eyes if he dared come close enough to try.

Gambit shook his head, forcing his mind back onto the job at hand. The job, as Stormy had described it, was easy enough. Break in, get the disks, and leave without being detected. This was the kind of job he’d been raised on. He could practically do it blindfolded—as long as he didn’t allow himself to be distracted. And, with Rogue as his partner, that would be the more difficult task.

The job required stealth—and a certain propensity for thieving. Both were a skill set he possessed in spades, so of course he was the best option. While the homme might leave the Thieves’ Guild, it didn’t mean the Thieves’ Guild left the homme. But why assign Rogue as his backup? She wasn’t exactly known for being stealthy. Rather, as far as he’d observed, her abilities tended more towards the brute strength side of things. Since he’d joined up with the X-men, he and Rogue had been on a few group missions together, but he hadn’t been able to figure her out yet. She kept everyone at arm’s length—figuratively and literally. For the first time in ages, he’d met someone who didn’t melt under his charm.

Of course, he had been warned. Don’t make skin contact with Rogue. Rogue was dangerous. The warning was practically part of the school tour.

_Here’s the swimming pool and the basketball court. We park the jet beneath the court, so be careful. And here’s the den. When we’re not on mission, we have game nights on Thursdays. The dorms are up here. Don’t enter someone else’s room without their permission. Oh, Rogue, don’t touch her skin. Now, follow this hallway down to the kitchen. Help yourself to anything not labeled in the ‘fridge and if you drink the last of the coffee, make certain you turn off the hotplate…._

He believed them when they warned him about Rogue’s touch. To lie about that would have been too cruel a trick to play on that belle femme. She was made to be touched and underneath that hard exterior, Gambit was certain she longed to be touched.

Well, the thought settled in the back of his brain, if no one else was going to touch her, he would find a way. The femme deserved to have someone who wasn’t afraid of her. Someone who wanted to touch her. Besides, what did he really have to lose?

Stormy cleared her throat, reminding him about the mission on hand. With a wink to his only definite friend on the team, Gambit pivoted and sprinted across the lawn with footsteps so light they scarcely left prints in the dewy grass. Even with his delayed start, he managed to keep pace with his partner. Rogue reached the gate only a moment before he did. Once she landed, she watched him with the same intensity he had studied her. Her brow furrowed and she bit her full lower lip as she tried to keep her expression neutral. She definitely didn’t know what to make of him. If that was the case, he would just have clear things up.

“Dat was mighty fine flyin’, chère. What else can you do?” He smiled all cheek and charm.

“Ah’m here to watch your back while you work the lock, Cajun.” As if to prove her point, she turned away from him and shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket. Before she could complete her turn, Gambit caught the flicker of a smile on her lips. Good, apparently the ol’ charm was still working. One of these days he’d figure a way past her defences.

“Right you are. Be two ticks and we’ll be in.” Retrieving his lock picks from an inner pocket of his duster, he worked the lock with a deft touch. It was a fiendish lock to be sure. But nothing he couldn’t handle.

The wind caught hold of her unbound hair and blew tendrils of her long locks in his direction. His fingers stilled as his mind wandered from the task at hand. Despite the importance of the mission, he wanted to catch those loose locks and twist them up and out of the way so he might study her flawless skin and commit it to memory. He caught the scent of her sweet shampoo. Sweets for the sweet, he was certain. Gambit groaned. Didn’t Stormy know he had a weakness for strong, feisty femmes like Rogue? He wasn’t bound to get any work done with Rogue so close, yet so far away.

_Mon dieu, Stormy what were you thinkin’ pairin’ dis Cajun up with her?_

Forbidden fruit, that’s what she was. And that intrigued him all the more. Not only was she the prettiest femme he’d ever seen, that Southern drawl of hers melted him to the quick. Could he break through her protective shell? He wanted to know what she kept so well guarded. Even if he studied her for the rest of his life, he wasn’t certain he could ever figure out what made her tick. Of course, that didn’t mean he didn’t want to try. A lopsided smirk settled on his face as he considered what it would take to break through her protective shell.

He had a feeling that getting to know her would be one of the greatest risks of his life. But, if he was successful, it would also be one of the greatest rewards he’d ever chanced.

“Swamp rat, you about done with that lock yet? We’ve about done eat up those ten minutes Storm gave us.” Rogue turned enough to catch him staring.

“Be but a moment, chère.” He turned his attention back from where it never should have strayed in the first place. He was tempted to send a small charge through the lock and hurry things up, until he spied the wiring that would set of the alarm if he made the wrong move.

She moved a half step closer and peered over his shoulder. “Sugah, don’ mean to rush ya, but there’s a hullabaloo goin’ on around front and Ah’m pretty sure Storm doesn’ want her distraction to be for nothin’.”

A shit-eating grin quirked his lips as the tumblers inside the lock shifted slightly at his touch. All it would take was a little more pressure, an expert twist, a light touch…and there. The lock opened with a satisfying click. Though she watched him work with a keen eye, it was obvious she didn’t know the first thing about lock picking. He could work with that.

“A kiss for luck, chère.” He leaned into her nearness, his face tilted just above hers. The next move was up to her.

“No.” She jerked away with a violent tug. Her gloved hand shot out and shoved against his sternum. “Besides, since when did you need luck?”

“Can’ blame a homme for tryin’.” With a shrug, Gambit stepped aside and pushed the gate open enough for the two X-men to slip in. “After you, petite.”

“Took ya long enough,” she muttered, slipping into the open yard between the building and the gate. It was about a thirty meter dash across open ground to reach the building, but no one was paying attention to the two interlopers at the back.

“Non, took jus’ the right amount o’ time. Can’ rush art.” Gambit gave her a wolfish grin and followed after her like they were taking a stroll in the park.

Rogue scoffed. “You’re an artist now?”

“Oui.” Gambit tested the back door. It was also locked, but unlike the gate, it was a simple deadbolt that took less time to open than respond to Rogue’s question.

Both fell into silence as they made their way down the hall towards where the labs were marked on the blueprints. Turning the corner, Gambit stopped suddenly in his tracks. Rogue, who’d been following him, swore under her breath as she ran into him. Her gloved hands pressed at his jacket covered back.

“What’s happenin’?” she whispered, once more withdrawing and keeping herself to herself.

“Merde.” Gambit swore. Instead of a room filled with the boffin-y types he expected, the lab seemed to be a gathering point for the more muscle-bound guard type.

“There goes the plan,” Rogue muttered under her breath as she peered around him.

“Non.” Gambit retraced his steps towards the break room they passed on their way in. He shrugged out of his duster, filching a deck of playing cards from a pocket as he did so. “Dat was plan A. Plan B is certain to work.”

Rogue arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “Well, sugah, unless Storm gave you different plans than she did me, Ah don’ know of a plan B.”

“There’s always a plan B. Sometimes its C or D down on de list, but dere’s always a plan B.” He plucked a lab coat from the back of a chair and slipped it on over his uniform. Handing a second coat to his partner, he gestured for her to do the same.

“And what is plan B?” The lab coat was much to big for her, but it stuck out much less than the yellow and green she wore underneath.

“We improvise, chère.”

She twisted her hair back into a knot and threaded a pencil through it to keep the impromptu bun in place. For half a moment he imagined, plucking the pencil out of her hair and watching as it tumbled down so he could run his fingers through her long locks. With a shake of his head, he reminded himself this was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts. Besides she wasn’t ready for that level of intimacy yet. He’d scare her away if he tried. _Patience._

“Ah’ll distract the guards. You get the disks.” A light burned in her bright green eyes.

“Dat’s de spirit.” He couldn’t do much to hide his distinctive eyes, but he grabbed a clipboard. If he kept his head down and acted like he belonged, it was unlikely anyone would question his reason for being there. That was the power of a clipboard.

Rogue shrugged, grabbed a coffee mug from the counter and headed back towards the lab. He listened as she talked to the guards, their voices growing fainter as she led them away from the door. Taking that as his cue, Gambit headed for the lab and ducked inside without anyone being none the wiser.

Like Stormy had said, quickly and quietly. Once inside the lab, it hadn’t taken Gambit long to find where the disks were located and pocket the prize. He was out of the lab before any of the scientists could question what he was up to. Then again, they all appeared a might more concerned by the blaring alarms than the stranger in their lab.

Back in the hallway, Gambit headed back to where he left his coat. He frowned. Rogue wasn’t anywhere in sight. He hoped she hadn’t run in any trouble while she distracted the guards. She was more than capable of taking care of herself, still….

In the break room, a chair creaked. Gambit rolled to the balls of his feet and silently crept forward. There was a flicker of shadow within the room as the chair creaked again. Before entering, he withdrew a straight of playing cards from the deck and infused them with the fuchsia glow of energy.

“What took ya so long, swamp rat?” With hands behind her head and her feet propped on the table, Rogue lounged in one of the break room chairs. She was back in her bomber jacket, the lab coat nowhere to be seen.

Gambit diffused the energy running through the cards in a small poof of energy an ash. Fishing the disks from his pocket, Gambit splayed them out like he was holding a hand of cards. “Now, chère, what did I tell you about rushing.”

“If you’re done showin’ off, let’s get goin’. Storm and the others will be waitin’ for us.” In one fell swoop, Rogue stood and tossed him his duster.

Properly chastised, Gambit grinned. He loved that fire in her. Her passion stirred a fire within him. One that he was pretty certain that only getting to know her would quench. Or, flame the fire brighter. Either way, he was game.

Rogue planted a fist on her hip and cocked her head to the side. A lock of white hair fell into her face. “Well, ya comin’ or do ya plan to spend the whole night starin’ at me?”

If he had his druthers, he’d choose to spend the whole night with her, but he didn’t think she’d go for it. Instead, he reached towards her face. Instinctually she jerked away, placing her gloved arm up as a barrier. In the instant, the teasing was replaced by the wariness that wrapped around her like a shield.

He froze his raised hand in place. The soft croon of his Cajun patois was a gentle caress all in itself. “S’kay, chère, just wanted to tuck your hair behind your ear. D’accord?”

Though she relented, dropping her protective arm, she remained as skittish as a newborn foal. With his glove covered fingers, he ever so gently pushed the loose strand behind her ear, never once brushing her skin. His fingers lingered in her hair, entangling among the locks for as long as he dared before letting go.

Her eyes flicked open and she started at the sudden loss of contact. It was only then that he realised how much she’d been enjoying his subtle touch. A crack in her armour.

Placing the same hand on her arm in a featherlight touch, he waited to see what she’d do. It was a crazy dance to lean in close while keeping a respectable distance. He didn’t want to scare her off. A smile gingerly tugged at her lips, and for a brief moment indecision flickered in her green eyes as she met his red ones. She blinked and her resolve was back in place.

“We should head for the rendezvous,” she said, not pulling away.

“Oui,” he agreed. His hand traveled down the length of her arm, and when he reached her hand, she tentatively allowed their hands to remain lightly clasped.

Other than giving her hand a light squeeze, he didn’t draw attention to the fact she was allowing him to touch her. And, when she dropped his hand before they exited the building, he didn’t say anything.

While it wasn’t the kiss that he’d asked for, this was almost more intimate.

Besides, any thief worth his salt knew that you didn’t force a lock. You listened. You worked the puzzle. And, if you were good—and Gambit was the best—the tumblers would click into place and the door would open, just like you belonged there.


	2. Mid-Flight Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Gambit is injured during a fight, Rogue gives him a lift away from the wreckage before the authorities arrive. Alone with his chère, Remy has an unexpected revelation.

Remy leaned on his bō staff as he attempted to catch his breath. The rest of the team was busy wrapping up their parts in the fight, so he could take a moment to be, well, vulnerable. In the face of his nigh on invulnerable teammates, he didn’t like showing his own frailty. His side screamed at him as he inhaled deeply. Letting out the breath in an equally painful rush, he cautiously ran his fingers along his side to the epicentre of the pain and probed the tender area. When he finally peeled out of his uniform for the night, he knew he’d find a patchwork of deep bruising splashed across his side and, if he was to take an educated guess from the piercing pain, there would be a few injured ribs to add to his collection of injuries. Forcing himself to breathe normally, he wasn’t quite quick enough to hide the resulting wince before Rogue turned his way.  
  
Striding over the rubble from several demolished buildings, Rogue traversed the space between them like she was crossing nothing more than a pebble strewn path. When she reached him, she stopped close enough that if he reached out a hand, he’d touch her. It was all he could do to hold back and keep from closing the remaining distance. There were too many potential witnesses around for her to allow that and she’d rebuff his attempts if he tried. He hurt too much to be swatted away.  
  
Slipping into an easy nonchalance, Gambit forced himself to ignore the pain as he straightened. By the time he met her eyes, his easy was grin back in place. She glanced over her shoulder, checking to make certain the rest of the team was distracted before returning the grin. Hers lit up her face like the sun lit the sky. He lived for these moments. The moments when the small cracks in her hardened exterior revealed a bit of the inner softness she hid away from everybody else.  
  
Rogue studied him, her sharp gaze peeling away the lies. “You okay, sugah?”  
  
“Never better now dat you’re here, chère,” he intoned, unable to hide the slight wheeze that accompanied the words.  
  
She raised a skeptical eyebrow, not buying his bull for even a minute. Slipping her gloved hand between his jacket and uniform, she ran her fingers along his side in a perfunctory manner, checking for injury and nothing more. When she reached the bruising, he jerked back sharply and grunted. Gently, she withdrew her hand. “And is that what Hank will say when he examines your ribs, Cajun?”  
  
“Non,” he answered petulantly. Cautiously he leaned on his staff, using it to help make his way through the boulder-sized rubble. Sometimes it just didn’t seem fair. While Gambit was quick on his feet and had a knack for avoiding most of the direct blows that should have laid him low, he was keenly aware of just how mortal he was. He was never quite certain how much of his uncanny streak of luck was due to his mutant abilities and how much was simply derived from the innate and learned skills needed to survive first as a wily street rat, then as an adopted member of the Thieve’s Guild. Not to mention the years he spent on his own before joining up with the X-men. In any case, luck could only protect him for so long. Unlike his teammates, his skin didn’t turn to metal or ice, he didn’t have super strength, and he didn’t heal any quicker than the average person.  
  
Rogue surveyed the rubble strewn street and the massive bodies of their downed opponents. It wasn’t as if they were hard to miss. Each of the monstrosities were at least three times larger than Colossus. And now, all that remained of the six bio-mechanical constructs were their half-buried, twisted, and smouldering remains.  
  
This hadn’t exactly been a sanctioned mission. Gambit and the others had simply been in the area when the creatures escaped from a nearby lab and started wrecking havoc. By the time the team had arrived on site, a wide swatch of downtown had already been destroyed. With innocent lives in danger, it wasn’t like the X-men could stand by and watch it happen. Gambit stared at the impressive amount of rubble surrounding them. The X-men definitely didn’t do subtle.  
  
“Which one got ya?” Rogue scuffed her toe along a slab of concrete displaced onto its side during the recent upheaval.  
  
“I was fightin’ the red one wit’ de fire when the blue one decided to take a swat at me.” Gambit fingered the blackened hole in the sleeve of his duster. The exposed skin on his shoulder glowed a rosy pink and small blisters pebbled the flesh where the heat had been most intense.  
  
Her eyes flashed as she found both the red and blue constructs lying in a nearby heap. Charred streaks from Gambit’s kinetically charged cards peppered both bodies. His attacks had torn through the grafted flesh and bit into their mechanical frames. From the look Rogue was giving them, Gambit was certain that if they so much as twitched, she would tear them apart with her gloved hands. A touch of satisfaction and a heaping of guilt warred at his insides in a jumble of ignominious pain that tore at his conscious. His belle femme cared for him—or, at least about his general well-being—but the guilt that continuously nagged at the back of his skull grew more insistent and chided that he didn’t deserve her sympathy. She kicked the blue one, lodging it on its side with the force of her blow. A charred starburst pattern marred Blue’s chest where Gambit had planted the charged end of his bō staff and toppled the creature with the resulting explosion.  
  
“Now wasn’ it mighty considerate of the mad scientist to colour code them. Do you think he was plannin’ on a field test today?” she muttered.  
  
“If he was, doesn’ appear it was all dat successful.” Gambit smirked as he spied Rogue’s opponent from among the wreckage. It was nothing more than a tangled mess of broken and bent orange limbs. A crater the size of her fist smouldered at the centre of its chest. His own punches hadn’t left a mark on the monstrosities. What did it say about him that the demonstration of her strength sent a pang of desire straight through his body? He swallowed back the cheeky, appreciative comment that would send her running away from him and back to the relative safety of being among the rest of the team.  
  
“Why wasn’ Iceman fightin’ the red one?” Rogue rocked back on her heels and searched for Bobby. He was traveling by ice bridge over the carnage as he extinguished the last of the remaining fires flickering among the wreckage. While Red’s main target had been Gambit’s head, the agile thief had been too quick for most of the creature’s fiery bolts. The one that had finally found his shoulder had originally been intended for his head.  
  
Gambit wanted to shrug, but his unburnt shoulder was on the same side as his injured ribs and the gesture didn’t seem worth the pain. “Suppose it was ‘cause he was fightin’ de yellow one with de sonics.”  
  
Rogue frowned. “Wolverine?”  
  
“Wolvie was busy dealin’ with de purple one.” He pointed his bō at Wolverine who was using his adamantium claws to crack through its metallic skull like a tin can in order to access the CPU.  
  
“So, while Ah was busy with the orange one and Colossus was taking on the green one…” Rogue stepped in close and jabbed a finger at his chest. Her scowl deepened into one that spoke as much of concern as it did of anger. “Why were you the one takin’ on two of ‘em all by your lonesome, swamp rat?”  
  
This time Gambit did shrug despite the pain. “You were all occupied. ‘Sides, dis isn’ de first time I’ve taken on superior numbers and lived t’ tell de tale.”  
  
“You shouldn’ have to Gambit.” She leaned in close, her forehead almost, but definitely not, touching his. Though her voice was lowered to a strained whisper, it was laced with the sweetness of honey. Her initial swell of anger had bled out, leaving only concern in its wake. “Ah could have helped.”  
  
He swallowed back the lump of emotion that threatened to choke his words. “I’ll live chère. I’ve had worse.”  
  
With the back of his glove covered fingers, Gambit reached to brush at the smudge of dirt and concrete dust from Rogue’s cheek. Standing perfectly still, her breath quickened as his hand slowly neared her face. It was a sign of the progress they had made that she no longer immediately shied away from him when he moved towards her.  
  
Before he could make contact, Wolverine’s growl snapped across the distance. “Gumbo, what do ya think you’re doing?”  
  
At the reminder that they weren’t alone, the spell was broken. Rogue jerked away from Gambit like he’d been about to zap her with one of his charges instead of caressing her cheek. He pulled his hand back and ran it through his disheveled hair as though that had been his only intention in the first place. The moment was gone. In a split second, her armour was firmly back in place. She tugged her jacket tight around her and held in whatever else she might have said.  
  
With a grunt, Wolverine stalked across the rubble like he was on a one man mission to protect Rogue from the wily Cajun.  
  
Gambit resisted the urge to sigh as he stepped away from Rogue, leaving a respectable distance between them. He collapsed his staff and pocketed it in his duster. Keeping his spine straight and his hands in his pocket, Gambit gave a lazy grin like he hadn’t a care in the world. He wasn’t about to let either of them know just how disappointed he was by the interruption. “Not a t’ing, homme. Jus’ tellin’ the petite I’d live.”  
  
Rogue’s lips pulled into a tight line as he dismissed the severity of his injuries. With a balled fist planted against the curve of her hip and her chin thrust out in defiance, she spun to face Wolverine. “Gambit’s been injured. What’s the status of the rest of the team?”  
  
“They’ll live.” Wolverine’s uniform had been slashed by his opponent’s blade. Blood stained the edges of each gash, but the skin underneath had already knit back together without leaving even the trace of a scar. Bobby and Piotr, still in their respective ice and metal forms, made their way towards their gathered teammates. With the obvious exception of Gambit, none of the others had any visible injuries.  
  
Wolverine sniffed the air and narrowed his eyes. His head cocked to the side as he heard something the rest of them couldn’t. “We need to leave,” he growled.  
  
The rest of the team didn’t need to wait for the sirens before taking off in the direction of the Blackbird. They’d landed the jet on the outskirts of the city and it would be quite the scramble to get across town before the authorities arrived. Despite the team’s heroics, it was likely there would be no distinction made between the X-men and the bio-mechanical menaces. It was time for the better part of valour and to make their escape.  
  
Iceman, Colossus, and Wolverine rapidly disappeared out of sight. Gambit loped after Rogue for a few steps before his body painfully reminded him that he wasn’t in any sort of shape to be running. He slowed to a hurried hobble as Rogue easily scaled the remains of a former office building.  
  
When she realised Gambit was no longer at her side, Rogue paused, waiting for him at the apex. In the not so far distance, sirens howled. The cacophony echoed off the remaining buildings and up the street in their direction.  
  
A fire sparked in her green eyes as she egged him on with a few well placed jibes and her familiar snarky banter. “Thought ya said you were fine, Cajun. You gonna let a few cracked ribs prove ya wrong? Gotta hurry if we want to beat the others.”  
  
“And how, chère, will we manage dat?” Gambit panted.  
  
As much as he didn’t want to admit defeat, he wasn’t certain it was possible for him to make it from the wreckage before the authorities arrive, let alone make it to the Blackbird before the others. Their vehicle, with its frame twisted and bent to the point where it’d never drive again, laid under a pile of rubbish. They weren’t going to leave that way. He had no doubt he could get out of there eventually, but he wouldn’t be able to do it quickly. Or, easily.  
  
“Fly,” she stated as though it were the most natural thing in the world. For her, he supposed, it was.  
  
“Have fun wit’ dat,” he muttered darkly.  
  
“Ah ain’t leavin’ you behind.” Rogue skidded down the side of the building and returned to his side. Before he could argue, she picked him up like he weighed no more than a stripling and levitated both of them off the ground.  
  
“Hey—“ Gambit bit back his protest as she secured her hold on him. She placed one arm around his back, the other under his legs. He wrapped an arm around her neck and savoured the delicious sensation of his covered arm resting against the sliver of bare skin between her collar and hair. A shiver ran up her spine and into him.  
  
“Quit fidgetin’,” she scolded. With a determined effort, she refused to meet his eyes. “Wouldn’ do for me to drop ya now.”  
  
“Non, wouldn’ do at all, chère.” Despite the pain and the dizzying heights, Gambit pressed as close to her as he dared. There was no way in heaven or earth he would do anything to break this spell. Her heartbeats thundered in her chest and he felt every rapid flutter as if it was his own heart.  
  
A surprisingly comfortable silence fell between them as Rogue flew away from the carnage moments before the authorities arrived. The view of the ground grew distant as they increased in altitude. Gambit’s head swam as he cast a fleeting glance below. Turning back to study his chère in open admiration, he decided this view was eminently better.  
  
In the waning dusk, the sun cast a hazy, golden halo around her and she glowed like an ethereal vision. The last rays of daylight caught the highlights in her hair bringing out a faint red amid the brown.  
  
_Mon dieu_. She’s beautiful. He wanted to lean in and kiss those forbidden lips He was so tempted that he wasn’t certain he could trust himself. Certainly things would end badly if he gave into temptation and started kissing her mid-flight.  
  
As though she could read his thoughts, Rogue flushed. Her grip tightened and she inadvertently pressed her fingers hard enough into his upper arm that there would be bruises later. Gambit groaned, but made no move to rectify the situation.  
  
“Sorry, sugah.” Rogue could scarcely be heard above the wind whipping around them. Her brow furrowed and there was a pang in her expression he couldn’t quite read. “Does it bother ya?”  
  
“Quoi?” Remy leaned closer until his face practically touched hers in order to hear her better. Her breath was warm on his cheek in comparison to the chill of the wind. He wondered if her skin would be just as warm.  
  
“That Ah can pick you up so easily,” she clarified.  
  
“Non.” It had never crossed his mind to be concerned or offended about such things. These moments of insecurity always caught him off guard. All he wanted to do was reassure his strong, vivacious chère that she was perfect. “Why would it bother me? It’s part of who you are, chère, and I like you exactly as you are.”  
  
_Even love you_.  
  
The thought came unbidden to his mind, causing him to start and suddenly tense in her arms. His breath caught in his chest making it nearly impossible to breathe.  
  
_Love_.  
  
Remy hadn’t considered that as a real possibility until this moment. And now that he’d thought it, he couldn’t deny the truth of the matter to himself.  
  
“You all right, swamp rat? Your ribs givin’ you grief?” She carefully readjusted how she held him, relaxing the pressure of her body against his injured side.  
  
Remy shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Instinct told him to flee, but he couldn’t very well do that suspended high above the ground in mid-flight. More than that, he found that at least part of him didn’t want to run this time.  
  
How had he come to fall in love with her? Getting to know her had started as a challenge. He’d wanted to crack the mystery that was Rogue. She proved to be a challenge worthy of a master thief. During the time they spent together, a friendship had formed. When he wasn’t looking their friendship had progressed to something akin to love. Surely it was desire that had tripped up his better senses.  
  
This wasn’t supposed to be how it happened. He didn’t think he’d be in danger. Rogue was supposed to be safe. Her guards were too strong, her defences too well practiced. He could woo her, and she wouldn’t break. His heart would be safe.  
  
Until it wasn’t.  
  
How was it even possible? He’d gambled on love once. It hadn’t work out so well. It cost him everything and he didn’t think he could lose like that again. Since then he’d kept love at bay. _Real love_. Over the years he’d indulged in the cheap imitation—lust for love, flattery for honesty, fleeting nights for a lifetime commitment—in hopes of staving off the real thing. It had worked until…until Rogue. Remy closed his eyes, uncertain how to deal with this revelation. Had he finally bet more than he was willing to risk?  
  
“That better?” Rogue’s sweet drawl broke into his ruminations. High in the air, she held him closer than she ever dared on the ground. His heart ached.  
  
Gambit pushed aside all thoughts of love and what that might mean for him…for her…for them. She wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready either. Instead, he fell back on habit, on the charmer’s mask he wore to hide the truth from the world. A mask as impermeable as her armour.  
  
He flashed an entrancing grin at her in the hope that it would cover over a multitude of sins. He twined his fingers in her hair.  
  
“Right as rain, chère, especially when I’m in your arms.” His voice sounded slightly strangled to his ears, but she didn’t appear to notice.  
  
“Ah bet you say that to all the girls.” Rogue’s cheeks grew red. Was she embarrassed or was it just the wind?  
  
“Don’ usually like tellin’ a belle femme she’s wrong, but ’m ‘fraid I must. You’re de only one.” Despite the flirtatious nature to his words, he couldn’t hide the raw honesty in them.  
  
She exhaled sharply, recognising the bite of truth. Indecision reflected in her bright green eyes as tension radiated through every facet of her body. He watched as she fought between giving into her desire and protecting herself. When she finally made the decision to reinforce her shields and rebuff him again, he wasn’t surprised by the swell of relief as his brain overrode his heart. As long as she kept the wall around her heart, he wouldn’t need to admit how he felt. No need to press the issue as long as she wasn’t ready. He could continue to pretend that the easy flirtation was all he wanted. The longer she protected her heart,the longer his heart would be safe.  
  
“We talked about this Gambit. It ain’t happenin’. Ever. Ah can’t touch you.” Melancholy laced her words instead of the well-practiced scathing bite. “What’s in this for you? You got a death wish or somethin’?”  
  
He ignored the last bit, though the colour drained from his cheeks. “Dere’s plenty here for me chère. Startin’ wit’ your friendship.”  
  
“Ah thought we were already friends.” She laughed and they soon fell back into the safety of their usual banter. This was familiar. This he understood. Those nascent inklings of love, well, those were much more complicated.  
  
The Blackbird soon came into view and Rogue started their descent.  
  
“Dinner?” he asked in a desire to prolong her nearness. “I know a place dat serves de best down home cookin’ outside of de South.”  
  
“Ah’ll think about it, swamp rat,” she drawled as they finally landed. Though the others were no where in sight, they quickly parted.  
  
A satisfied grin spread across his face as she marched up the ramp to the jet. He’d seen her smile and knew that she’d already agreed, but the protest was part of their repartee.  
  
“Don’ you be getting’ smug, sugah. Ah said, Ah’ll think about it,” she quipped from inside the Blackbird. He could hear her rattling around inside as she prepared the jet for departure.  
  
Gambit sloped after her before thinking better of the action. Instead he leaned against the side of the jet and retrieved a cigarette from an inner pocket of his duster. With the tip of his finger, he lit the end of the cigarette with a small infusion of energy and inhaled.  
  
“How does tomorrow at seven sound?” He called over his shoulder, refusing to act on the desire to go to her, wrap his arms around her, and confess it all.  
  
A pause and a reluctant exhale prolonged the moment before she responded with a slight quaver in her voice. “Sounds perfect.”  
  
He nodded to no one in particular and exhaled a stream of smoke in a long slow breath. The pain in his chest distracted him from what her hesitation might mean.  
  
When he decided to sit in with the X-men, he hadn’t planned for love to even be on the table. Now that it was, it turned the game into a high-stakes gamble. For the first time in quite a while, the hand life had currently dealt him was decent. But, to play it out meant risking more than he was willing to lose and he wasn’t confident he could win.  
  
“Sugah, you plan on helpin’ or you gonna stand there all day?” Rogue stood at the top of the ramp. Her wind blown curls framed her face and her eyes shone. His belle chère was so full of passion and life that it almost hurt to look at her when he couldn’t have her. He concentrated on the glowing end of his cigarette in an effort to keep from saying something stupid.  
  
“Well—?” she stamped her foot forcing him to look at her.  
  
“Oui, I’m comin’.” Whistling a jaunty tune, he ground out the cigarette butt and joined her in the doorway.  
  
With both of them standing in the confined space, they almost touched. He lowered his head towards hers with lips parted and his smouldering red eyes half-lidded. If she responded in kind, his fate would be sealed. She grinned up at him for a moment before turning with a tantalising sway of her hips. He couldn’t help but tuck away the question of love as he returned the grin and followed her with reckless abandon.  
  
Well then, there was one thing about which he was certain. Win or lose, Remy wasn’t ready to leave the table.  
  



	3. Vulnerabilities of the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy has an epiphany, but struggles when it comes to exposing the resulting vulnerabilities to Rogue.

“Gambit!” Rogue screamed his name over the din of the battle as she dodged in front of the energy beam, taking the brunt of the attack meant for him.  
  
The world around Gambit shifted to slow motion as Rogue collapsed bonelessly to the battlefield like a marionette with cut strings. Mud and gore squelched around her limp form. Golden energy briefly emanated from her body before absorbing into her skin. She didn’t move, not even the wind dared twitch at the loose strands of white and brown hair. In that moment, the clamour of the battlefield, the shouts of his team, the jeers of their enemies, had gone oddly silent. A gut wrenching scream that came from nowhere and everywhere at once echoed distantly in his ears. Gambit’s throat was raw, but he didn’t notice.  
  
Before the weapon could re-charge and fire again—this time hitting its intended target and rendering her sacrifice pointless—Gambit charged an entire deck worth of playing cards and flung them errorlessly in rapid sets of twos and threes at the offending weapon. His boots squelched in the mud as he ran towards the spot where Rogue had fallen. Before they left his hands, the over-charged cards burnt his bare fingertips and charred the material of the glove covered ones. He didn’t perceive the bite and sting of pain. His entire focus tunnelled in on Rogue’s prone, too-still body.  
  
She was injured. Dying. Dead, if he did nothing.  
  
At her side, he collapsed to his knees, his legs no longer capable of holding him upright. The jagged hole in her uniform revealed a mess of burnt and bubbling skin peeled back to blood and muscle. Her face was too pale, her blood too red. A study in contrasts. Her breath escaped in shallow, ragged pants that weaken with each haggard gasp. He didn’t dare try to staunch the wound. Between her exposed flesh and his filthy gloves, any attempts would be dangerous to them both. Instead, he wrapped numb fingers around her hand like a supplicant. _How could this happen? Why had she taken his place? Why did she think he was worth the sacrifice?_  
  
He rolled back on his heels and shook his head in a futile attempt to clear his thoughts. Limp strands of damp auburn hair were plastered to his face. Of course Rogue had sacrificed herself. She would always throw herself between her friends and the unseen danger. Rather than risk the lives of others, she would risk herself.  
  
If it wasn’t already too late, he wanted to beg her to stop. For once, he wanted her to think about keeping herself safe—to think of what her loss would do to him. But, he knew he would never ask that of her. Because, this was who she was. She’d always sacrifice herself if that meant protecting her friends and family.  
  
_Merde._ He pressed his knuckles to his eyes until white spots danced across his vision, stopping the moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes before it fell. That femme was going to be the death of him just as surely as she had saved his life. His miserable ol’ life. Didn’t she know that hers was worth a million times more than his? How many times had he made the wrong choice for the sake of his own skin? How many times had he done so even when he knew better?  
  
She’d known as well as he did that he wouldn’t have been able to survive that energy beam. If he had been paying attention, he might have been able to dodge the blast, but he hadn’t even noticed they were aiming at him. Though, he should have realised he would be the next target. After all, it only made sense. Bishop had already absorbed enough of the beam for his energy blast to be a weapon twice as deadly. Stormy was beyond the weapon’s reach as she manipulated the weather to give their team a chance. And Rogue, his Rogue, she was invulnerable.  
  
Until she wasn’t.  
  
After so many futile attempts against the others, the energy beam had been turned up to its highest setting and aimed at him. The enemy hadn’t known, or, more likely, they didn’t care that the same beam that Bishop could shrug off without a second thought would incinerate Gambit. Even at the lowest setting, the weapon would have taken him out. If it had hit him, he would have died. He was vulnerable, as easily broken as a doll made of twigs. And so, Rogue stepped in front of the beam.  
  
Her breath, a barely there wisp, faded with each shallow, shuddering skip of her chest. Desperate, his fingers skirted along her throat, registering a thin, thready pulse. If they couldn’t get her proper medical treatment immediately, they needed Wolverine. He was lurking somewhere around the battle field, taking out ground troops with his efficient savagery. If he was willing to lend her a bit of his healing ability, she might just survive. Absorbing Wolvie always left Rogue a bit cranky, but saving her life would be worth the trade off.  
  
Gambit batted at the tears welling in his eyes before giving it up as a futile gesture. Let them fall. He didn’t care who saw or if they ragged him about it later. He loved her and he didn’t care who knew.  
  
“Don’ you give up on me, chère. I need you,” Remy begged. For certainly, this wasn’t a hero’s plea, it was a lover’s. “Please, mon coeur.” The endearment escaped his lips before he could stop it.  
  
_My heart._ It was only after he said it he realised how true the sentiment was. She was his heart, his soul. She was all that was good in his life. The one who believed he could be a better person. Every beat of the heart in his chest pulsed with thoughts of her.  
  
He glanced over his shoulder. No one was close enough to hear. Still, he leaned down, pressing his lips almost to her ear.  
  
“Je t’aime,” he whispered in a rasped, heart-rending honesty. The words bubbled out of him in a swell of emotion that could not be staunched. He repeated them in an urgent, harried mantra as though the sentiment itself might be enough to draw her back to him.  
  
How messed up was he? He could never find the courage to utter those words when she was conscious and now he clung to them. Infusing them with a hope he did not know if he still possessed. Surely he was a coward. A coward in love.  
  
Shrugging out of his duster, he wrapped it carefully around Rogue. He worked her arms into the sleeves and tucked the extra material around her, as though his coat could be a substitute for the caresses he could not give her.  
  
He wanted to kiss her. Take her in his arms and hold her close. To brush his bare fingers across her preternaturally pale flesh. No matter the cost, he would pay anything to have her back. Alive. His.  
  
The roar of thunder flooded his ears, following the lighting strike of epiphany that pierced his heart. His words seized in his throat, his murmurings ceased as he struggled to breathe.  
  
_I love you._ Simple words for a sentiment far from simple. In the end, the risk of loving Rogue wasn’t his powers or his memories. It wasn’t even his life. The risk was to his heart. Plain and simple, he’d risked his heart in loving her. Opening his heart to her meant becoming vulnerable. He would need to tear down all his carefully constructed walls built to keep him safe. To keep his secrets hidden. He didn’t know if he was ready for that.  
  
Someday, he had no doubt, she would learn the truth of him. He dreaded that day. She’d never look at him the same way again. If he invited her into his walled heart, the day she finally viewed him with the disgust he deserved, would be the day she took the knife he handed her and impaled him in the heart.  
  
Remy swallowed back the fear that rose like bile and urged a steely resolve to replace his cowardice. He needed her in his life. It didn’t matter if she would hate him one day.  
  
He cradled Rogue in his arms. She laid too still, too pale, too close to death. Time was running out and he needed to tell her before it was too late. She needed to hear those words that he could only whisper in desperate breaths when she could not hear him. They needed to be brought into the open. If they made it through this, he would…  
  
“Gambit,” Cyclops snapped. He approached the scene from behind Remy, unable to see Rogue beyond the Cajun’s distraught huddled form. “Get your head back in the game. We need you on the right—“  
  
Awareness of the wider world crashed over Gambit in a swelling cacophony. The scream of battle saturated his senses and deepening mud sucked at his boots. Rain seeped past the collar of his uniform and trickled down his back. Tangled locks of white hair clung to Rogue’s clammy forehead in sweaty, rain drenched clumps.  
  
“Gambit!”  
  
“Non,” Remy snarled, a ferocity ripping through him. He gathered Rogue in his arms like he was carrying the most precious and fragile treasure in the world. Because, she was truly precious. Standing, he challenged Scott with an unrelenting, gleaming glare. Gambit was certain that Scott would recognised that look of pained desperation. Like Remy’s world was falling apart around him. That he would be lost without her. Because, it was the same look Scott wore whenever Jean was injured or dying.  
  
In a flickering instant, the eyes behind the gleam of the ruby quartz visor met the fire burning in the crimson irises and the two men understood each other. They both loved strong, fierce, independent women. They would both do anything to protect the women they loved.  
  
At the intensity in Remy’s stare, Cyclops backed down. Scott nodded, releasing Remy from his duty long enough to get Rogue to safety. For once, Cyclops wouldn’t chastise Gambit about not following a direct order. For once there would be no lecture when they returned to the Mansion. Neither man would ever speak of this moment again.  
  
“Take care of her, then get back here on the double.” Cyclops turned back to the battle leaving Remy to carry Rogue to the Blackbird.  
  
In the end, Gambit only stayed by her side long enough for Wolverine and Hank to be summoned. At their arrival, Gambit was forced to go back to the battle. He was of more use there than here—especially with two more off the field.  
  
As Hank prepared to stabilise Rogue, Remy squeezed her hand and leaned in close. Whispering his love for her one last time, he swore he would somehow find the courage to tell her the truth when she was conscious.  
  
  
*******  
  
  
A While Later…  
  
Remy sat on the roof of the Mansion with his knees pulled up to his chest and the wind tugging his hair. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, allowing the weak northern sunlight to warm his face. Something big was coming, he could feel it in the air. While he didn’t know what it was, the conviction of a coming change twinged in his gut. And, he’d learned long ago to trust his instincts and be prepared. It’s why he sat here in full uniform, though there had been no call to assemble. He wasn’t ready to be around the others until he needed to be.  
  
Putting his cigarette to his lips, he took a long pull and filled his lungs as he brooded over the past few weeks. He leaned back on his elbows and sagged under the weight of a heavy melancholy. It was only in his solitude that he could let his weariness show. The others didn’t need to know.  
  
The battle where he had almost lost Rogue appeared to be forgotten almost as soon as it was over by everyone except him. After all, it was business as usual. Hank had stabilised Rogue enough for her to borrow Wolverine’s healing ability and close the wounds. As for the rest, the energy blast had simply overwhelmed her body. She’d woken forty-eight hours later, cranky and sore, but alive and well. Then, she was back in the field like nothing had happened. Which meant a never-ending series of mishaps that required their near constant attention.  
  
He blew out a stream of smoke, watching it dissipate into the air like the promises he had made to himself. In the moment, epiphanies were easy. When his world was about to end before his eyes, it was simple to see what he needed, what he needed to do. But, as time passed, acting on epiphanies turned out to be quite difficult.  
  
And now, time was running out.  
  
He still hadn’t found the courage to be honest with her, to tell her the truth. That he needed her. That he loved her. Real, true love…. Yet, he hesitated. He couldn’t find the right moment. Couldn’t find a way to broach the divide.  
  
Opening his eyes, he squinted into the harsh glare of the sun and spied Rogue flying high overhead. His heart lightened at the sight of her. Full of life and joy and so very much alive. When she flew, her movements were graceful—sweeping arcs and controlled spins. It reminded him of dancing. And freedom. In the air, she didn’t need to be as cautious as she was on the ground. The fear of touching someone accidentally disappeared when there was scarcely anyone on your level.  
  
His cigarette, long forgotten, burned low between his fingers as he continued to study her. He longed to be at her side during these moments of reckless abandon. But, he couldn’t fly, and having to be responsible for another person would dampen the freedom flight allowed her. So, he simply sat and watched, memorising his chère, as though to stockpile these moments for the day when they were no longer his to openly cherish.  
  
Remy started in a jerking, futile motion, when in mid-loop, Rogue paused in her forward momentum for half a second. Her expression blanked in the familiar way it did whenever they received a message from the Professor. He felt the tap, but ignored it, not letting down his shields. Rogue would find him and let him know what the Professor wanted.  
  
After indulging a moment longer in watching her soar, he shifted off his melancholy and exchanged it for the carefree thief. She’d be here soon enough and his solitary contemplation would be over.  
  
Rogue landed beside him on the roof. Her hair was a wind tousled riot of chestnut and white curls. She brushed errant strands of hair from her face, revealing eyes bright with the joy of flight and cheeks flushed with exertion and the bite of the wind. Revelling in the moment of privacy, she grinned at him. “C’mon sugah, we have a mission.”  
  
“Oh?” he drawled. Languidly he tapped the end of his cigarette. The ash caught on the wind.  
  
“Apparently somethin’s goin’ down in Israel. The Professor says we’re needed.” She offered him her glove clad hand.  
  
Despite not needing the assistance to stand, Remy wasn’t about to refuse an offer like that. He clasped her hand and scrambled to his feet. Her grasp was strong and firm and she held on longer than necessary.  
  
“Why t’ank you chère.” He made a sweeping bow that would have caused a less agile person to tumble off the side of the roof.  
  
She laughed at his antics before sobering. Like him, she was already in uniform. As though she had also sensed the need to be prepared for sudden action. Lines of worry creased her brow as she stared out into the horizon. Unconsciously, she rubbed at the spot where the energy blast had struck her. His gut roiled with the caustic bite of bile.  
  
“Do you know what de mission is about?” he asked, forcing his tone to remain light. They went on missions all the time and they weren’t always life or death. She moved a step closer so his body sheltered her from the wind. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.  
  
Rogue bit the inside of her cheek. “Nah, the Professor didn’ say. But, he sounded worried.”  
  
Remy grimaced. The looming unknown hung heavy over the moment. A pang of urgency bit into his heart. He needed to tell her. In an effort to rally his courage, he closed his eyes and instantly regretted the action. Images of Rogue sacrificing herself in his stead, of Rogue lying too still in his arms, were indelibly etched against his eyelids. If it hadn’t been for him, she never would have been injured. Rogue deserved better than him.  
  
As if sensing his sadness, his pain, even though she didn’t know its cause, she knew he oughtn’t go into battle in such a state of mind. Rogue gave his hand a squeeze, drawing his red eyed gaze to her. When she had his attention, she grinned. First shyly in a thin attempt to draw him from his maudlin reverie. His lips quirked unable to resist her sweetness. As she reeled him in, her grin grew broader, bolder. She shook her head, sending a cascade of the curls he loved so much to tumble over her shoulders.  
  
Soon his grin matched hers. It didn’t reach his eyes like hers did, but it was a start. Her smile turned cheeky, and she backed up a step, then two, her hand still clasped in his. Though she moved away from him, her gaze did not waver as she hovered above the slanting roof. He felt like Wendy, holding Peter Pan’s hand.  
  
“You wanting me t’ t’ink happy t’oughts, chère?” he mused. His grin held a slightly manic edge. Rogue alive and well was his happy thought. Maybe he could fly.  
  
She laughed. “Sorry, sugah, Ah don’ got a thimble for ya.”  
  
He swallowed hard. A thimble. A kiss. He yearned to kiss her. Instead, he skidded to the edge of the roof with the graceful ease of an acrobat performing a high wire act.  
  
“Race you.” He quirked an eyebrow, delivering the challenge with aplomb.  
  
“See ya there, Cajun.” Without a glance behind, she disappeared out of sight. Not wasting any time, he clambered after her, finding the familiar handholds down the side of the building by touch until he slipped through his bedroom window. From there, it would be only a matter of minutes before he caught his belle femme.  
  
Despite her head start, it didn’t take long for Remy to overtake her. He was quick and knew all the secret ways through the Mansion. The coattails of his duster flapped against his calves as he ran down the hallways. Chasing her to an empty corridor, he silently snuck up behind her. Before she could escape, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. He breathed in her heady sweet scent. Though he held her close, he wondered if he would ever truly catch her. Heart and soul. He shoved the thoughts away before they could take root.  
  
“I got you,” he said in a low rumble that sent chills up her spine. He leaned into her as he felt the shiver that radiated through her body. He didn’t get to enjoy it for very long before she turned in his arms and wrapped hers around his shoulders. Her honeyed voice was thick with the desire she would never act on. “Nah, Ah’ve got ya, swamp rat.”  
  
“Oui.” His heartbeat quickened, but he forced his breathing to remain even.  
  
She kicked her feet off the ground, bending her knees as he held her close. For a scintillating moment, she leaned into him, allowing him to support her. Like she did every time she was tempted to kiss him, she tilted her head back with her full lips parted and her emerald eyes half lidded. Her heart raced and her breath caught as he responded in kind.  
  
He nearly choked on the rising rush of desire, but paused when her breath was a warm caresses on his lips. Though he hesitate, the need to kiss her nearly bubbled out of him. If he moved any closer, she would pull away, rejecting the very thing she desired. That he desired. He wondered what it would take to finally kiss her. To admit all that he felt for her and more. He hoped it wouldn’t take the end of the world.  
  
Rogue straightened her legs, taking her weight back from him. Looking up at his face, she cupped his cheek with her gloved hand. Her thumb rubbed at the bristles of his stubble. “What is it sugah?”  
  
“Rogue….I…” He hesitated as his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and he momentarily lost the ability to breathe normally. Why did these words keep getting stuck in is throat? _I love you,_ his internal monologue prompted. “I…I need t’ tell you somet’in’.”  
  
“All right, Ah’m listening….” She drawled.  
  
Before he could speak, the flow of air in the corridor shifted as someone opened a door at the far end.  
  
“Rogue! Gambit!” Cyclops called from the hanger. “We don’t have all day.”  
  
“In a moment,” Rogue hollered back. Irritation at being interrupted sparked in her expressive eyes.  
  
Turning to Remy, her voice was soft and sweet, it reminded him of what home ought to be. “Go on.”  
  
Footsteps reverberated from the other end of the hallway. They wouldn’t be alone for much longer and he couldn’t do this with an audience. He sighed. The time wasn’t right. They needed to be able to focus on the coming mission. She didn’t need the weight of his confession hanging over her head. There would be time later. He’d tell her afterwards.  
  
He stepped back, giving Rogue space. Tilting his head to the side, he listened to the subtle shift of sound. Under the murmuring of indistinct conversation he could pick out the soft brush and rustle of feathers. “Warren,” he remarked in a low undertone.  
  
Rogue nodded her agreement as she chafed at her arms. The air in the corridor had dropped by several degrees. “And Bobby.”  
  
In line with their predictions, Bobby and Warren came into view. The sight of Rogue and Gambit bickering or flirting—or, more often, both—was too common of a sight these days for Warren to react with anything more than a nod of greeting to Rogue and a glower at Remy.  
  
“Is he giving you grief?” Bobby asked. The implied, _Do you want me to do something about it?_ was left unsaid.  
  
Remy grimaced and resisted the urge to growl. _Dem boys are too protective of Rogue. Dey don’t really see her,_ he mused. Instead of sniping back at them, he breached the distance between him and Rogue and twirled a loose curl around his fingers. The gesture spoke volumes, _I’m not afraid t’ touch her._  
  
Rogue rolled her eyes, but didn’t try to extract her hair from his touch. “Nah. Ah’ve got it handled. We’re just chattin’.” Rogue waved the boys off.  
  
Waiting until they were once more alone, Rogue touched Remy’s arm. “We ought to go before they send a search party. But first, what’d ya want to say?”  
  
Remy ran a hand through his hair. That little display was typical of his interactions with most of the others. Without knowing it, they concurred with the dark thoughts he couldn’t silence. No matter how hard he tried to atone, he wasn’t good enough for Rogue, he wasn’t good enough for the X-men. And someday, they’d all know the truth. Until then, he couldn’t lose what he had now. He couldn’t lose Rogue. Sometimes it felt like only Rogue and Stormy saw the possibility for good in him. When Rogue was at his side, he felt like it was possible to be a better man.  
  
With a shake of his head, Remy’s shoulders slumped. He pressed his hand over hers and held it tight before breaking the contact. “Not’in’ dat can’ wait chère. We’ll talk after de mission. Promise.”  
  
As they headed for the hanger together, their hands almost brushing, a dark presentiment sank in his gut like crystal and tasted of ash on his tongue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending of this chapter is intended to take place in the lead up to the ‘Legion Quest’ story arc where we saw Rogue and Remy kiss for the first time in X-men #41. With that said, I only obtained parts 3 and 4 (of 4) in the ‘Legion Quest’ story a week before putting up this chapter, so I don’t know exactly how the story arc started. Hopefully this is still enjoyable and I haven’t stepped too badly on the toes of the canon storyline. (For the curious, I’d first learned of the kiss in the issues dealing with the aftermath, aka Rogue and Bobby’s road trip. Needless to say, this resulted in a flurry of frantic texts to my friend who loaned me her comics wanting to know the details…So, when I outlined this chapter of Remy trying to say ‘I love you’—I wanted to place it just before the kiss and the resulting fallout….)


	4. Fractures of the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy’s relationship with Rogue is often tumultuous and full of ups and downs. Despite their love for each other, they are plagued by myriads of personal demons, which leave them vulnerable to the pain only those most dear to them can inflict. When deep hurts clash with fiery passion, sometimes tempers flare.

Some time after Antarctica….  
  
Remy resisted the urge to check his watch as he tightened his grip around his coffee mug. Rogue was late. This definitely didn’t bode well for their lunch plans. Balancing on the back legs of his chair, Remy sipped at his empty mug and deliberately avoided making eye contact with the other X-men gathered around the dining room table. If things had gone according to plan, he wouldn’t have had time to finish his coffee, let alone still be sitting here when the others arrived for lunch.  
  
“Are you certain you don’t want one?” Hank asked again as he inclined the serving platter with the last ham and cheese sandwich in Remy’s general direction.  
  
“Non, mon ami.” Remy gave a shake of his head in an almost credible imitation of not being irritated. His fingers itched to retrieve a deck of cards from his pocket and start dealing a game of solitaire. But, he’d waited this long without his cards as a distraction, to pull them out now would certainly garner more attention to the fact that Rogue had practically all but stood him up.  
  
A furrow creased Stormy’s usually serene brow as she studied her longtime friend. She wrapped her long, slender fingers around his wrist in an attempt to still the reflexive tensing of his fingers. Barely restrained energy buzzed under his skin.  
  
“Are you all right?” Stormy spoke so softly that the others gathered around the table could not hear despite their far from surreptitious attempts at eavesdropping.   
  
“‘m fine, chère,” he ground out between gritted teeth. He didn’t want to discuss this. “Leave it be. D’accord.”  
  
Stormy raised a skeptical eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Instead she clinked her fingernail against the empty ceramic mug. Apparently he was fooling less people than he thought; his exasperation would have been less obvious if he’d been shuffling his deck in a swish and whir of cards. Restraining a sigh, he returned his mug to the table, only to find himself at a loss with how to occupy his hands.  
  
Before she could press him further or he could concoct a semi-reasonable excuse, the kitchen door slammed open with enough force to wrench the hinges askew. More than one X-men jumped in their seat at the sudden noise and winched at the anticipated damage to the oft patched wall.  
  
“What’d you do this time Gambit?” A thread of vitriolic curiosity wound through the question as Bobby pinned Remy with an accusatory glare.   
  
“None o’ your business, Ice _boy_.” With a steely, intense glint in his crimson eyes, Remy returned the piercing stare until Bobby looked away.  
  
“Remy.” Stormy placed a placating hand on his shoulder. He shrugged off her hand and held the burning stare a moment longer. When no one else dared to question the situation, Remy closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose.  
  
Not bothering to hide the pulsing vein at his temple, Remy leaned forward, righting the front legs of his chair with an answering bang. If he could head her off before she entered the dining room, maybe, just maybe, he could forestall the next inevitable round of gossip that continually surrounded their relationship these days. Remy attempted to forcibly smother his own smouldering anger. It wasn’t an entirely successful venture, but if one of them didn’t try to keep their tempers in check, they would never get anywhere.  
  
Dating Rogue was supposed to be a dream come true, but lately, all they seemed to do was argue. He hissed in frustration. This relationship was something they both wanted. Something they had worked and fought and hoped for until it became a reality. But, now that they were finally together, all their personal demons were set on having a near permanent field day. If it wasn’t her fear of her powers, it was his guilt and self-loathing that continually obstructed their progress. This wasn’t even the first time they’d hit this particular point in their relationship. How many times had they been together, then apart? They were at the together point again, but for how much longer? Their flaring tempers and fiery passions ricocheted off each other as they struggled to hold each other close while simultaneously pushing the other away. They both bled too easy.  
  
At the sight of Remy in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, Rogue veered wordlessly into the hall which led towards the rest of the Mansion. It didn’t take a genius to tell that she was attempting to avoid him. Well, it was too late for that.  
  
“Rogue,” Remy pleaded as he caught up to her at the stairs leading to the bedrooms.  
  
Several steps above him, she whirled in place, her hair whipping around her with the movement. Her eyes narrowed and she looked at him, but wasn’t seeing him. He grimaced. Whatever he’d done this time, he must have really stepped in it.  
  
“Not here,” she seethed between clenched teeth and continued her march up the stairs.  
  
He reached for her arm. If he could touch her, remind her of the good in their relationship, or even simply distract her from the ragged, raw edge of her wrath, maybe he could forestall at least part of the coming argument and the fallout it would leave in its wake. Instead, she shied away from his touch with an abrupt jerk and quickened her pace to remain a step or two beyond his reach.  
  
Without straying from her intended path, she stomped towards her bedroom, flung the door open, and slammed it shut. Remy slipped in behind her, the door clipping his heels. At least here they could have a semblance of privacy.  
  
“Now, chère…” Remy began.  
  
“Don’ you dare ‘chère’ me you swamp _rat_. It ain’t gonna be that easy.” She stormed across the room and pressed her forehead against the cool windowpane. The bed neatly divided the room with its inescapable presence. Though at the moment, neither of them saw the bed as anything more than an unyielding barrier that served to separate them physically as they were emotionally. They couldn’t get any farther apart and still be in the same room if they tried.  
  
Remy studied the strained cords of her muscles where they ran like stark lines across the taut canvas of her back. The waves of tension radiating off her body struck him with an almost tangible pressure. His knees buckled slightly at the intensity and he staggered back a step. Foreboding sank in his stomach like a millstone. He swallowed back the burning bile climbing up his throat.  
  
Finally turning her attention away from the window, she caught him staring. Rogue crossed her arms across her chest and glowered at him. “What do ya want?”  
  
Forcing aside the unease, Remy feigned a casual drawl, “Well, ch—eh, _Rogue_ , we had lunch plans.”  
  
“Ah ain’t hungry.”  
  
If it wasn’t for the oppressive sense of impending doom, he would have already made a move to act on the aching desire that the flush of her cheeks and the fire in her eyes sparked in the core of his being. Her passion—no matter what form it took—always caused him to respond.  
  
As if reading his lascivious thoughts, her expression grew hard and her lips pulled tight in a facade of a disgusted grimace.  
  
“You wanna steal a kiss, don’chya Cajun?” Rogue accused. Instinctively she shifted a step in his direction, her fingers clutching the hem of her shirt.  
  
“Oui,” Remy roared back, regretting his loss of control the moment the response flew off his tongue. His temper flared, fanned by the turmoil boiling in his gut and the conflicting waves of rage and yearning cascading from her. Despite the regret, it didn’t stop him from digging the dagger in deeper. He manoeuvred around the bed, stepping in until he invaded her personal space. “And don’ pretend I’m de only one, chère.”  
  
Her face, already scarlet with anger, turned a more brilliant shade of crimson. In a blink-and-you-missed-it moment, she leaned into him, her lips parted. Recovering her senses, she thrust a hand against his sternum and mercilessly pushed him away. “We ain’t talkin’ about me here. We’re talkin’ about you. You ain’t bein’ fair. You know, Ah can’t kiss ya, yet ya keep pushin’.”  
  
“I know dat.” He caught her covered wrist and held it in his gloved hand.  
  
“Then why do ya keep pushin’? Tryin’ to wear me down ‘til Ah do somethin’ Ah regret?”  
  
“Non.” Remy roughly ran a hand through his hair, yanking at the loose ends until his scalp throbbed. “‘m tryin’ to make dis t’ing between us work.”  
  
“What thing?” she shot back deliberately allowing the cutting words to sink in. “Ah can’ trust ya.”  
  
Remy gaped like a fish out of water. Where had that come from? What else did she want to know? What other secrets did she want to rip out of him?  
  
For half a moment, her anger flickered. Unable to bear the sight of the wound her words had dealt him, Rogue focused on the bed and all the unspoken, unfulfilled intimacies it represented. Deep sadness shone in her eyes before the glinting, hard edge returned. She squared her shoulders to keep from sagging under the weight that threatened to bury her where she stood.  
  
Biting back another scathing retort, Remy clamped his jaw shut with the clacking of teeth and waited. The volatile silence thrummed in the air like a high intensity power line running across the room. He feared a spark would set the room ablaze.  
  
“Ya think you’re Prince Charming, but you’re really Georgie Porgie, ain’t ya sugah?” There was nothing sweet in her voice. Only cold iron. If he had been one of the fair folk, her attack would have been an irrevocable blow. But, non, no one ever accused him of being fair—no, he was always the red-eyed devil, _Le Diable Blanc_. Still, _She speaks poniards and every word stabs_.  
  
Smirking with a wry twist of his mouth, he raised a sardonic eyebrow. He wouldn’t let her see how much she hurt him. “Georgie Porgie?”  
  
“Ya know,” she said in a low hiss that cut him to the quick. “‘ _Kissed_ the girls and made them cry.’”  
_Merde_. So, she had seen it. With a cringe, his guilt flared across his face like a beacon before he managed to school his features into a blank mask. He had hoped she hadn’t seen it. When she hadn’t said anything, he thought…. _Non_ , he shook his head, disgusted with himself. He should have told her, explained the situation to Rogue before they’d even debriefed with the team after the mission. And that had been days ago. During the debrief he’d skipped over the minor details of how he’d completed the job done, telling himself it wasn’t relevant to the others. It hadn’t been, but it was relevant to her.  
  
No wonder things had been icy between them since coming back from that mission. Today’s foiled lunch was supposed to be a step towards remedying the cold. Except, after days of festering in silence, the cold had morphed into too much fire.  
  
And now, it was all coming back to haunt him—like always. He hadn’t meant anything by it. A meaningless facade needed to provide an excuse for why he was sneaking into places he didn’t belong. That bloody mission hadn’t quite gone completely south yet, but it had been headed there in a handbasket.  
  
Rogue had been on the mission with him. She’d been his lookout and backup. Others had been there too, but he had only had eyes for her. He usually enjoyed being on the missions where she was required to dress in formal gowns. That evening, his job had been to get the information without leaving a trace. It was the kind of pinch he could do in his sleep.  
  
But, nothing had gone according to plan. Their host had hired more security than they’d been led to believe. Which left Rogue and the others busy in a dizzying dance of keeping their eyes on too many targets while providing distractions whenever security wandered too close. Then, the data hadn’t been backed up before the gala as scheduled. The X-men needed the list, so Remy had no option but to work his way deeper into the estate and find where the originals were kept. Once there, he needed to make his own copies, a time consuming and tedious process. All of this had been beyond the original mission parameters, but he wasn’t about to cut and run. Not when all he wanted to do was return to the party for a dance with his chère before disappearing into the night.  
  
Unfortunately, he never got that dance. It was only on his way back to the party that he realised he’d picked up a tail—a blonde with bored eyes and a dress that revealed far too much skin. He’d vaguely noticed her earlier, she’d been mooning over him all evening. When she noticed him leave the party early, she had waited for his return in the shadowy hallways where guests weren’t supposed to be. Though he had tried to dissuade her blatant attempts at seduction, she wouldn’t listen, instead pressing herself against him and slowing his process. So, when the security guard appeared, making his scheduled rounds, he was forced to make a choice. He kissed her.  
  
She was close, she was convenient, she was cover. That was all. He didn’t even know her name. Her kiss tasted of cigarette ash and desperation. There was nothing soft or sweet about her. Nothing like kissing Rogue. When it was finished, all he wanted to do was wash his mouth out with soap, but he had to play it cool. Pretend that it had been something worth writing home about when it didn’t even rate a footnote. It had been years since any kiss other than Rogue’s had made him feel anything. The brush of Rogue’s lips—even through a protective barrier—instantly filled him with a burning desire that only she could quench. _Damn her_.  
  
The flirting and the charm had grown old long before Rogue had entered his life. He’d kept up the act for as long as he did because it had protected him until he’d found someone who was worth risking his heart. Once he had tasted the real thing, all his other flirtations had become nothing more than a hollow play act. He used it now because his time on the streets and his training as a thief had ingrained into him to point of instinct that it was always better to get out of a tight situation without fighting whenever possible. That didn’t mean she had to like it, but he wasn’t about to throw out a useful tool in his repertoire.  
  
“Well—?” Rogue stared at him, drilling holes through all the protective layers and exposing his vulnerable heart. Daring him to try lying to her. She wouldn’t believe his lies. Though, he knew, even the truth would sound like a lie. He had gone and screwed up good this time.  
  
Again. _Damn him_.  
  
“Chère, I can explain…” The words sounded weak and cheap even to his own ears. He shook his head, and didn’t try again. His shoulders slumped and he practically collapsed in on himself. _Why bother?_  
  
They all thought of him as the X-men’s playboy. He loved too freely and too often, or so they thought. Truth was, most of the others didn’t know him well enough to judge him. It never stopped them anyways. They didn’t want to get to know him. Sure, he played his cards close to the chest, his secrets didn’t come out until they were dragged kicking and screaming. But a homme deserved to keep some things private, non? He wasn’t proud of his many past indiscretions. They drove him to atone. Couldn’t the others trust him? Even a little? Hadn’t they forgiven far greater sins than his?  
  
Closing his eyes, his head sagged forward. No, maybe they hadn’t. But, he didn’t need the whole team to forgive him. Just as long as those few—the ones who really knew him best—accepted him, trusted him. Surely that would be enough. He hoped Rogue would be the one. That she could trust him, even when what she saw didn’t make sense.  
  
The edge of her wrath softened a minuscule amount. “Sugah, whatever your reasons are, it’s always gonna be like this. Ah can’t touch ya, no matter how much either of us want it to be otherwise. You can’ live without bein’ touched. Ya say you’ll stick around, that we’ll work somethin’ out, but how long you gonna last? ‘Cause Ah ain’t gonna touch you. The risks are too big, the cost is too much.”  
  
He scrubbed at his face as though he could scrape away the growing aggravation before meeting her green eyes. Without thinking about what he was doing, he reached for her hand and ran a thumb over her knuckles. “Why are you so quick to tell me what ’m gonna do? Why won’ you give me a chance?”  
  
Reversing her hand, she vehemently shook off his hold as though that proved her point. “And what are you gonna to do when you can’t stand it anymore. When our inability to touch wears you thin?”  
  
“We’ll figure it out,” he pleaded. He never understood why the others were always so ready to believe that he was the one playing her. Didn’t they see? She held his heart in her hands. And right now, she was tearing it to shreds.  
  
She laughed, cold and mirthless, “You’ll find someone else. Some mark willin’ and eager to melt into your hands. Your charm will draw her in, just like it did me. But she’ll be able to touch ya. Caress you. Give ya that bloody kiss. And you’ll break my heart.”  
  
“I’d never,” Remy shook his head. When they were together, even when they couldn’t be intimate, he never thought about touching another woman. He never wanted to. It was true that during those periods they weren’t dating, he’d found himself in the company of other femmes. But none of them ever matched her. They always left him wanting, longing for the one woman denied him. No other woman had made him feel the way Rogue did. Not even Belle.   
  
Rogue scoffed, a mocking, venomous sound. “Why should Ah believe ya? Ya can’t even go on one mission without kissin’ the first girl who throws herself at ya.”  
  
_Damn. Damn. Damn._  
  
“It was a mistake chère. I got de message loud and clear. I went for de easiest cover, I shoulda been able t’ work somet’in’ else out. Je suis désolé.” He was practically on his knees begging for her forgiveness.  
  
A forced resolve stole across her eyes as she refused to look at him. “It ain’t good enough. You’ll just go an’ do it again. Ah ain’t gonna be made a fool.”  
  
“What else do I have t’ do t’ prove my love for you? I’m yours chère, dere’s no one else. All de rest of it—de flirting on the mission, de charm—it don’t mean a t’ing.” He paced away from her, across the room. His words were soft, almost inaudible under the sound of his footsteps. “De cost don’t matter t’ me. I’m willin’ to pay anyt’in’ if it means stayin’ by your side.”  
  
“The cost does matter. And ya ain’t the one who has to live with the consequences. Don’ forget, I’ve seen your mind, sugah. It’s a dark place in there.” She grimaced, remembering it all. “When ya gonna get it through your thick skull, Ah don’t want ya in my head.”  
  
He threw his hands in the air. His head throbbed. They kept having the same argument. Yes, he messed up. Again. He admitted it. Apologised and meant every word of it. If he had kissed Rogue instead, she would have been angry about that too. There was no winning here. He was royally screwed either way.  
  
“Nothin’ to say, Cajun?”  
  
Remy glowered. “Not’in’ left to say. You apparently got all de answers worked out wit’out me. I’m not’in’ but a guilty dog who deserves not’in’ more den t’ be kicked t’ de curb, non?”  
  
“Ah didn’ say that. Don’ go putting words in my mouth,” she snarled.  
  
“Rogue, you don’ know what you want. You tell me you can’ touch me, but if I once— _once_ —touch someone else during de course of a mission, ’m not’in’ but a player. I wait for you. I don’ push for more den you’re willin’ to give and I’m de bad guy.” His red eyes shone like burning embers. Worn beyond ragged, words spilled out of him without considering the consequences. “What do I have t’ do to prove myself t’ you? I love you more den my own life. Dat isn’ goin’ t’ change.”  
  
His admission hung heavy in the air between them. He knew he said the wrong thing. It was true, but Rogue didn’t want to hear that. In the charged silence, his confession grew and twisted as it exposed another of the raw nerves that ran between them. It wasn’t as much as what he had said, rather _how_ he had said it. The self-loathing had crept through, the part of him that considered his continued existence of little value. She didn’t need to be reminded of his self-hatred because she already knew it all too well. He shivered with the cold that ran through the very marrow of his bones and had become a constant companion since Antarctica.  
  
At last Rogue relented. She shook her head and looked down at her feet, not daring to meet the pain in his crimson eyes. “There’s nothin’ more ya can do, Remy. Ah know how ya feel. But it’s not gonna work out between us. Don’ ya see, you’ll just end up hatin’ me in the end. That’s why ya let Belle go, wasn’ it? ‘Cause she’d end up hatin’ ya if ya made her leave home. It’s the same here, you’ll just end up hatin’ me if ya stay.”  
  
Tears fell down her cheeks, leaving glistening trails in their wake and he was back at her side in a few steps. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket that he kept particularly for this reason. Well, not necessarily to wipe away her tears, but to touch her. She accepted the thin, white cloth, but pulled away before he could brush the tears from her face.  
  
“I could never hate you, chère. You are the heart of my heart. Hatin’ you would be like hatin’ de best parts of myself,” he whispered, wishing she believed him.  
  
She pressed the cloth back into his hands. This wasn’t how the story was supposed to go. It’s not how it worked in the romance novels they passed back and forth and read the most salacious sections to each other. She was supposed to keep the token close and think of him. To want him back.  
  
Knowing full well what she intended, he watched helplessly as the change came over her. With her head held high, her shoulders squared, and her spine rigid, she steeled herself for the unpleasant task she was about to perform.  
  
“Goodbye, Gambit.” The detached monotone might as well have been a punch to his gut. Each word a continuing barrage. “Ah don’t need ya. Ah don’t want ya. Go away and leave me be.”  
  
He hesitated, unable to move his feet. The last dregs of his anger swiftly became something else—regret, longing, he didn’t know. Remy tried to meet her eyes with a silent plea, but she wouldn’t return his gaze. Her lips pulled into a tight, severe line as she tried schooling her features into a hard, embittered mask. But, the mask cracked when it reached her eyes. Though dry for the moment, each tell betrayed her—a quiver of her lashes, a blink that lasted too long, the agony that settled deep within her emerald stare. Her words were a lie, but one she desperately wanted to believe. One she forced herself to believe, as if it were the only reality.  
  
“Go!” Rogue yelled. “You’re not wanted here anymore.”  
  
“But chère...”  
  
“Goodbye, Gambit.” This time she succeeded. Her voice was as cold as ice. With her arms pulled tightly across her chest, she turned away from him so he couldn’t see the lie on her lips.  
  
Remy’s face fell. Dammit, he knew why she was doing this. Same reason his heart was bleeding all over her room. He had the same power to hurt her as she had to hurt him. And she was done with the pain. She didn’t want to hurt anymore. In an attempt to staunch the open wound in the only way she knew how, she pushed him away.  
  
Fine. If that’s how she wanted it, he wouldn’t stay. He had his own rent heart to mend.  
  
Affecting the same tone she took with him, he jammed his hands in his pockets and looked down his nose at her. “Well, if dat be how you feel, I be goin’ den. Don’ let it be said dat Remy stays where he’s not wanted.”  
  
She choked at the venom that laced his response, but didn’t say anything to indicate that she had changed her mind.  
  
He stormed out of Rogue’s room—for the last time, he feared. The walls rattled as the door slammed shut in his wake. His snit only lasted mere steps into the hallway. There was nowhere he wanted to go. Nowhere else he wanted to be.  
  
With silent steps he returned to Rogue’s door. He raised his hand as though to knock, but he just stood there. Silent. Unmoving. His fingers ran in a barely there whisper along the woodgrain as though he could cast a spell and see through the door in order to catch one last, lingering glimpse of her. Instead, his acute senses felt her familiar presence mirroring his movements on the other side of the door.  
  
The prolonged silence reverberated with as much intensity as the previous argument had—possibly more so. He lowered his hand, the door unknocked. Sinking to the floor with a nearly inaudible thmp, he sat with his back pressed against the door. His elbows dug into his knees and he cradled his head in his hands.  
  
From the other side of the door, there was a similar slide and thmp. The pressure on either side of the solid oak door equalised as they sat back to back. In the hallway, the shadows lengthened as the setting sun sank below the horizon. The silence stretched, neither able to make the first move.  
  
In a voice less than a whisper, a mere breath, he heard her speak. “Good bye, Remy.”  
  
Without a response, he stood and disappeared into the shadows like he had never been there. Only stopping at his room to retrieve his duster, Remy left the Mansion with nothing more than he brought with him.  
  
Today he was farthest thing from a lucky man. His fabled luck had deserted him. That meant it was time to go. To find a new game. A new deal. A new hand.  
  
He hoped he hadn’t folded too soon.  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a couple of literary references in this chapter that I need to be attribute.  
> —When Rogue calls Remy ‘Georgie Porgie,’ she’s referring to a nursery rhyme. It begins, “Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie,/Kissed the girls and made them cry…”  
> —And, Remy quotes Shakespeare, when he thinks: _“She speaks poniards, and every word stabs:”_ (from _Much Ado About Nothing_ , Act II, scene i).  
> In the play, Benedick makes this remark when he reports the effect of the stinging remarks made by Beatrice (Benedick's past and future love interest). Somehow it seemed appropriate.


	5. A View of Starlight From Within a  Bottomless Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During another of the turbulent moments of their relationship, Remy finds himself alone and struggling with the darkness that plagues him. He wants nothing more than to spend the evening with Rogue, but being that they are no longer together at the moment, he's not certain he has the right to ask. 
> 
> Note: This chapter has depression, dark thoughts, and negative internal influences.

Antarctica ought to be nothing but a cold memory, but he couldn’t let it go. The cold and dark and hunger were an inextricable part of him now. Remy rolled the lowball tumbler between his hands. Dark amber liquid sloshed against the walls of the glass in a lazy swirl. Mesmerised, he stared into the depths and wished the warm golden hue could spread beyond its confines. _If wishes were horses…_ he breathed a long sigh torn from the very depths of his soul. He held the glass a moment longer, then tossed back the remaining bourbon. The liquor scarcely had the opportunity to pool on his tongue before it roared down the back of his throat with a familiar burn. He wanted to feel the fire. To feel anything other than the cold that tasted of despair.  
  
Then again, it was as much about Antarctica as it was everything that led up to the trial and his subsequent abandonment. The reasons for the trial. It was about all the things for which he could never forgive himself. It was the guilt that lurked in the corners of his mind and clung to every thought in inky, tarry globules. Lies, secrets and half-truths. Morlocks, Marauders, and Sinister. Thieves, assassins, and exile. His life was a series of one mistake, one bad decision after another for which he could never atone. He didn’t blame Rogue for leaving him behind. He deserved it. If it were possible, he would leave himself behind too. Unfortunately, life didn’t work that way.  
  
Remy shifted further into the solitary darkness of the back table he’d claimed for the evening. The shadows loomed deep in his corner of the world—both figuratively and literally. Most days he could push the majority of those memories into the deep, isolated corners of his brain and pretend to forget about them. He covered the rough edges with a devil may care attitude and a cheeky smile, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t forget. And, when the dams could no longer hold all those ugly feelings at bay, they crashed over the shaky, protective barriers and flooded his brain until he couldn’t think of anything else. Usually he could predict those days. He’d see the cracks forming, the triggers that sent him spiralling, and he’d retreat.  
  
But then, there were days like today. The ones that always caught him out of the blue. It wasn’t an anniversary of one of his colossal mistakes. They hadn’t lost a battle or a friend. No tangible ghosts from his past came back to haunt him. All in all, it had been a decent day. Heck, even Scott had refrained from lecturing anyone today ( _so, maybe that made it a bad day for Scott_ ). Without an audience, Remy couldn’t manage a smirk at the sardonic thought.  
  
Setting the empty tumbler on the table, he wished he had another. He had already finished several, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to keep drinking until his thoughts became as numb as the rest of him. Unfortunately, the energy it required to do that was more than he could summon at the moment.  
  
With the liquor gone, Remy stared blankly into the middle distance. By sitting still, he all but disappeared into the darkness and away from the world of light and laughter that filled the rest of the room. With a free evening on their hands, the X-men had decided to head into town and stop in at Harry’s Hideaway. Around him, the others were enjoying their night out. Though their faces matched the tones of the voices—carefree and jovial—their laughter sounded like a discordant jangle to his ears. Conversation buzzed in the background like a storm of angry bees, yet no one was angry. It was all wrong. He was all wrong. Cradling his head in his hands, he closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. He shouldn’t be here. They were here to have a good time and his presence would just drag everyone down—if they even remembered he was here.  
  
He sighed. The Remy they knew—the Gambit they expected—wouldn’t be sulking in the corner. He should be harmlessly flirting with Betsy and Jean, schooling Kurt and Bobby in a game of pool, or futilely trying to drink Logan under the table. Instead, he was hiding at a secluded corner table watching everyone else enjoy themselves. All the while, hating himself to the very core of his being. He wasn’t worth their friendship. His mistakes couldn’t—shouldn’t—be forgiven. He was a fraud. He didn’t deserve to be among heroes.  
  
That’s what the voices in his head told him. They weren’t literal voices, nor were they like the arguing psyches that Rogue dealt with on a daily basis. Rather, they were the dark parts of him that knew the truth. Some days, it was easier to believe those dark murmurings than the ones which told him differently.  
  
The door opened with a chime and a gust of autumnal air. A rush of dried, curling leaves swept across the welcome mat and crunched underfoot as someone new entered the bar. He didn’t need to look up or hear the friendly greetings to know who it was, he simply knew. He always knew when she was near.  
  
It was the way she restrained her firm footsteps and cushioned each step so not to crush or damage anything with her strength. Her graceful, cautious movements as she wound through the gathering of friends, always holding a little bit of herself back. The way a stray draft carried the subtle, sweet scent of honey and magnolias when she turned her head. How her presence charged the air with a current that no one else ever noticed, but he always did. It was how every one of his keen senses were overwhelmed by her whenever she was near. He could breathe a little easier as the restrictive pressure in his chest eased slightly.   
  
Tugging a card at random from his deck, he flipped it across his fingers. The card wove up and over, down and under, and back again. Remy cracked an eyelid and the Queen of Hearts stared back at him. Of course _she_ would make an appearance. His lady always knew when she was needed.  
  
_Mon Dieu,_ he missed her.  
  
He missed the sweet scent of her hair. The honeyed drawl of her voice. The way she ran heedless into danger. He missed the feel of her gloved hands entangled with his. The clasp of her hand over his mouth as she kissed the back of her hand. He missed the push and pull. The intricate dance that defined their relationship. The relationship they were no longer in. She wasn’t his. Not anymore.  
  
But, she was why he was here. He needed to see her—even if it was only from a distance. Needed to hear her laugh, even if it was with someone else. To view the flick of her wild chestnut curls over her shoulder, even if he couldn’t run his fingers through it. He closed his eyes and let every moment he ever memorised of their time spent together run across his mind’s eye. He needed his Rogue, even if she was no longer his chère.  
  
Expanding his kinesthetic sense, he tracked the circuit she made around the room. At the table opposite the door, she stopped to chat with Scott and Jean, but she didn’t stay beyond the point dictated by polite small talk. Hank and Bobby were arguing about music selections beside the jukebox and called her over to settle the debate. She blew them off, suggesting some Queen Ida instead. Kurt dragged her towards the middle of the room, begging her to make a fourth at the table where he’d been made an uncomfortable third wheel as Kitty and Piotr awkwardly flirted. Though she commiserated with him for a moment, she didn’t stay. She sent Illyana over instead. Passing the pool tables, she traded a few good natured barbs with Betsy, who was showing off for Warren. When Rogue finally ended up at the bar, she leaned on her elbows beside Logan. A low conversation passed between them before she placed her order with Harry.  
  
Remy frowned. Something was off with the way she interacted with the others. While Rogue still shrugged off touch and fiercely maintained the integrity of her protective walls, she didn’t eschew the company of the others the way she used to. She flirted and teased and sparked. They were all her friends. They all wanted a moment of her time, her opinions mattered, her help required. She didn’t shy away from them like she did from him.  
  
He ought to go. He didn’t belong here. They didn’t really want him. They didn’t need him. Not like they wanted and needed her.  
  
A clink of glasses proceeded the tread of her restrained footsteps as she resumed her circuit around the room. He remained still. If he didn’t move, maybe she wouldn’t notice him and he’d make his exit before he ruined her evening.  
  
Quick, light footsteps intercepted hers. Probably the person she got the second drink for. Before Remy’s heart could take a nose dive deeper into the darkness, he froze when she didn’t greet the interloper warmly. Rather, she waved him off with a flick of her hand and annoyance in her voice, “Not now, sugah.”  
  
Surprised, Remy jerked his head out of his hands and stared at Rogue who was standing at the end of his table. His eyes smouldered dull and hazy in the low light as he gazed on the impossible—his Rogue singling him out and not spoiling for a fight. She smiled at him with that smile of hers that could replace the sun.  
  
Rogue held a beer in one hand, a lowball of bourbon in the other. Her jacket was draped over her arm, giving him a clear view of her. Taking advantage of the evening off, she’d donned a comfortable casual outfit. She wore jeans and a pair of boots matched with a tank top the pale pink of peach blossoms and a pair of opera length gloves in a darker shade of the same. There should be something incongruous about the combination of casual clothes and formal gloves, but there wasn’t. It suited her.  
  
Like her, he’d forgone his uniform for the evening, though he still wore his duster. He wondered if she thought he was just making a fashion statement, or if she recognised it as the armour it was. Probably. She studied him—taking him in from head to toe. Remy’s lips curled in a grin meant to keep her from seeing the truth through his mask. It didn’t work. His cheek muscles strained at the forced movement, while he shuttered the emotions behind his eyes, leaving them expressionless, dark, and dull.  
  
For a moment, her smile faltered. She bit the inside of her cheek and closed her eyes before Remy could read the shift in her expression. Reigning in whatever emotion she was trying to hide from him, she released a stifled breath in a rush. When she met his gaze again, the bright smile had returned to her disposition, though it didn’t disguise the concern which lingered at the corners of her eyes.  
  
She placed the drinks on the table and slid the tumbler of bourbon into his empty hands. Taking a seat beside him, she wrapped her hands around her beer. As though it were the most natural thing in the world, she scooted in close to him. Her hip nearly brushed his. As it was, he could feel the warmth radiating from her. He stiffened, barely allowing himself to feel.  
  
“Sugah, whatchya doin’ all the way back here by your lonesome?” Rogue drawled. She gestured out at the room full of their friends, teammates, and a handful of strangers. “Ah’m sure there’s plenty of girls out there who’d love to keep ya company tonight.”  
  
Tension pulled his muscles taut and his head throbbed in a way that made him close his eyes to block out the light and movement. Hiding behind the glass, Remy sipped the bourbon and schooled his features. He grinned at her, all charm and charisma. A veneer of amiability that didn’t reach his eyes. All outwards signs of his black mood slipping out of sight. He looped his arm around her, careful not to touch the bare skin of her upper arm. Instead he rested his fingers along her glove covered elbow.  
  
_I should have worn gloves,_ he berated himself. He had come for her and now that she was here, he couldn’t even touch her. Not that she would let him, he didn’t deserve such a privilege either.  
  
“Don’ tease, chère.” His rich timbre wavered as he attempted a casual flirtation. “You know better than to suggest dat. Dere’s only one woman I want by my side tonight an’ she only just arrived.”  
  
He didn’t know why he said that or why he thought he could hold her. It wasn’t fair. Was he trying to get a rise out of her? Was he hoping to incite her temper? It would be easier to bear a Rogue yelling at him for overstepping boundaries, than to be on the receiving end of those pitying eyes.  
  
Whatever his reasons, she didn’t rise to the bait. Reaching for him, Rogue cupped his chin with her hand and directed his red-eyed gaze to her green one. “Remy LeBeau, why are ya lyin’ to me?”  
  
“Ain’t lyin’,” he muttered.  
  
“Not with your words, Cajun. With your face.” She tapped his lips with a covered finger and his facade faltered.  
  
Of course she knew. She knew him better than anyone else. Knew more of his secrets than anyone save himself. Even if she hadn’t been in his memories, taken on bits of his soul, she could see the truth. She saw beyond the mask of a debonair thief to the heart of the man cowering beneath. Despite knowing the truth—despite experiencing his darkness—she still loved him. He loved her. Always would, but she deserved better.  
  
His hand slipped from her elbow. It would be so easy. A brush of her warm skin with his bare hand. Their faces were so close. Her hand still cupped his chin and he couldn’t look away. It could be so easy. He could be free.  
  
Leaning in, he found his voice ragged and weak. “A kiss, chère? Make all de bad dreams go away?”  
  
Rogue didn’t back down or give in. When she spoke, it wasn’t with any of her usual acerbic bite. “It doesn’ work that way, sugah. Ya know that.”  
  
He nodded stoically. As much as he wanted to slip into the sweet embrace of oblivion, to never again remember his past misdeeds, to never again wake screaming from the nightmares constructed from his worse memories, it wasn’t anyone else’s responsibility to relieve that burden from him.  
  
If he kissed her, if he let her take his memories, he’d only be passing the guilt and shame onto her. And, that is where the problem fell. A damn catch-22. Damned if he kept his memories, even more damned if he gave them to her in hopes of blunting his own pain.  
  
Shaking his head, he forced his thoughts to clear. He couldn’t do that to her. Her touch wouldn’t simply take his memories from him, it would force them on her. In the past, the darkness that lurked in his soul had almost destroyed her whenever she kissed him unprotected. And, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that to her again.  
  
Remy pulled away from her and groped for his drink. There were other ways to seek oblivion. Ones that wouldn’t hurt anyone else. Before he could lift the tumbler to his lips, she placed her hand over the top and snagged the drink away from him. He squawked in protest when she drained the glass.  
  
Taking his hand, she stood. “C’mon swamp rat, let’s get you out of here. Ah don’ think ya need anymore to drink. Let’s get some fresh air.”  
  
He allowed her to lead, following wordlessly in her wake. Closing his eyes, he tried to dampen the tingling sensation along the back of his neck that alerted him to the myriad of eyes tracking their progression across the room with open curiosity. With Rogue by his side, he never stumbled or misstepped. She was a bright star, illuminating his way through the night. Whenever his psyche sank into the growing darkness, when he was left wandering in the endless winter, she was his lodestar, guiding him home.  
  
Releasing his hand, she shrugged on her jacket as they stepped out into the cool autumnal evening. While neither had moved more than a step or two onto the front sidewalk and they still stood side by side, without the reassuring presence of her hand in his, he felt lost. A lonely soul caught in a dense fog and set a drift on the sea. Despite the rush of wind, whipping around trees and the corner of the building, he didn’t feel the chill which sent shivers up his spine and down his arms. He clenched his duster tighter around him to ward off the cold that came from within.  
  
Rogue placed a hand on his shoulder, jarring him out of his thoughts. “Ya ready?”  
  
“Hm?” He didn’t know if she was asking if he was ready to leave with her or ready to leave her the hell alone or something in the vast expanse between the two options.  
  
“Ah was askin’ if ya were ready to head on up? Ah can help.” She gestured at the roofline. Though she had every right be lose her patience with him, she had yet to yell at him or put him in his place. A part of him was grateful, afraid that his fragile psyche might crumble if she tore into him. “Ah know it ain’t as high up as the Mansion, but we’re here…and Ah know, well, ya like to brood up high.” Rogue shrugged like it was nothing that she knew him better than anyone, that she could sense what he needed.  
  
Remy gave an awkward jerk of his head as he tried to nod and shake his head at the same time. Yes to the rooftop, no to the help. His head might be muzzy, but he could still scale a wall. He took a step forward, swaying slightly with the effort. “I can make it.”  
  
“Sure ya can, sugah, but it’s okay to accept help when it’s offered.” She held him in a steadying embrace until he managed to nod his assent.  
  
Once settled near the apex of the roof, he pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped an arm around his legs. Fishing a cigarette from a pocket, he clamped the smoke between his lips and lit the end with a small infusion of power. Steadily inhaling the tobacco and nicotine, his thoughts drifted towards nothing in particular, only lingering around the presence of Rogue at his side. She said nothing as he slowly smoked the cigarette down to a smouldering stub. Charging the spent end, he flicked it into the air where it disappeared in a miniature explosion of fuchsia and ash.  
  
“Ya wanna talk about it, Cajun?” Rogue asked, breaking the silence that was both comfortable in their familiarity with each other and awkward with their recent distance.  
  
“Non.” Remy shook his head and shrugged. What was there to talk about? He was damaged goods, not worth the price of admission.  
  
He leaned back on his elbows and allowed his head to loll back with its own weight. It was too much effort to force himself upright. Too much effort to pretend when it didn’t fool her. The north wind tugged at his disheveled hair, which had grown shaggy and unkempt over his recent neglect. Maybe his dark night of the soul wasn’t as sudden as he had thought. With dull, listless eyes, he traced constellations among the pinpricks of light in the deepening dark. Though still dimmed by light pollution, this far out of the city, the stars glimmered like diamonds in the night.  
  
Rogue gave his hand a squeeze, reassuring him of her continued presence. “Ah’m here for ya swamp rat. Whenever ya need me.”  
  
“I know, chère. T’anks,” Remy murmured, as much to himself as to her. He fought the urge to close his eyes and give into the sleep tugging at his heavy lids. Instead, he yawned. Pulling himself upright, he sagged against her side.  
  
Rogue hesitated for half a moment, not because she was uncertain of herself, rather not wanting to push him. “Have ya been sleepin’?”  
  
Remy wasn’t certain the last time he had a decent night’s sleep. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to running on a minimal amount of rest. After all, he kept what Rogue had once jokingly referred to as ‘thief’s hours’ while still managing to wake up for the early morning Danger Room sessions on a regular basis. Still the lack of sleep was obviously starting to take a toll. His already stark features were beginning to take on a gaunt appearance.  
  
But, this was different. This round of not-sleeping wasn’t intentional. Every night when he reached the point beyond exhaustion, he’d go to bed, only to find himself wide awake. He’d lay there, too weary to get out of bed, too awake to sleep. His eyes burned—dry and itchy and too heavy. In the morning, after he got out of bed, he would make his way through the day by forcing himself to participate, while pretending nothing was wrong. When the energy it took to pretend grew too thin and frayed, he’d disappear for a bit as he attempted to marshal his masks back into form. If the others noticed his disappearances, they didn’t say anything. They simply assumed he was just being himself and pulling a Gambit—disappearing on a whim for whatever reckless behaviours that often drew him away from the relative safety and normalcy found within the Mansion walls.  
  
On the nights when he managed to close his eyes for a minutes, his sleep was never easy. The dreams that haunted his sleep, made certain that he could never rest. He’d wake panting and clawing at his sheets in a near blind panic. The vivid, tecnicolour images lingered in his brain—not fading or disappearing like dreams ought—and left oily smears of unease tainting his consciousness. He hated sleep.  
  
“Non,” he replied at last, wondering if she even remembered the question.  
  
“Ah’m sorry, sugah. Anythin’ Ah can do to help?” She ran a hand through his hair, easing away at the tension budding under his skull.  
  
_Oui,_ he thought, though he didn’t voice his thoughts. He didn’t want to return to an empty bed with only the ghosts of his past to fill the void. If only there was someone who could hold him while he slept, someone to keep the haunting spectres at bay. But, that was a line they had scarcely crossed even when they were together. And now, he had no right to ask. The only problem with this scenario was the fact that there was no one else to fill that role. No one else he wanted to hold him close. So, he would remain alone.  
  
In the end, he simply shook his head. “Non, chère.”  
  
She frowned, knowing he was keeping something back.  
  
“Jus’ sit wit’ me for a bit. _Please._ ” There was a note of desperation in his plea.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
They sat in silence, watching the stars. He breathed in her scent—magnolias and honey, sweet and warm as a summer afternoon spent along the banks of the Mississippi. What he wouldn’t give to spend a lazy day with her along the banks of the river that connected the homes of their youth.  
  
The weight of the world still sat heavy on his shoulders. A dark miasma still clung to his brain, seeping from the dark corners and tainting every thought. But for this moment, he found a little sunshine. A little hope. She might not want to be his chère anymore, but she was still his friend.  
  
_Wasn’t she?_ The idea blindsided him with an edge that cut through the burgeoning calm. He could tell she was keeping something from him, but he didn’t know what it was. The possibilities terrified him. What if she was only here at the request of the others? Before approaching him, she had talked to them all. What if they had thought she was the only one with whom he might open up, so they sent her to figure out was wrong with their resident Cajun. If that was true, did that mean she was only here out of duty and not friendship? The prospect that he might have lost her completely sent waves of panic over him that nearly suffocated him and coated his psyche with a grimy, oily sheen. His heart raced, thundering in his ears, while his breath caught in his chest, escaping in ragged pants.  
  
“Remy?” Rogue was there, by his side. Not leaving as he floundered in the darkness.  
  
After a series of eternal moments, Remy calmed the tide of panic enough to look up and meet her eyes. Her expression was soft and compassionate. And, genuine. She held his hands in both of hers, her grip crushing his hands until they hurt. The pain broke through the numbness.  
  
“Are we still friends, chère?” Remy asked before he could stop himself. Though he feared what the answer might be, he needed to know.  
  
Tears and unaffected grief glistened in the corner of her eyes. Rogue brusquely ran the back of a gloved hand across her face, drying the tears. The pained expression remained, though now it was laden with a fierce determination. When her hands returned to his, she held him tighter. Bruises formed under her grasp. He held on for dear life. She was a lifeline cast out to keep a drowning man from going under.  
  
“Sugah, don’ ya talk like that. No one, not even yaself, is allowed to disparage mah Remy.” The thicker the emotion in her voice, the thicker her dialect grew. “Surely ya gotta know this by now, Ah don’ think Ah know how to not be your friend anymore.”  
  
“Quoi?” His head was muddled in more ways than one, but he was pretty sure that was only half of what was confusing him. He cracked an eye and cast a glance at her with his peripheral vision. “Dat was nearly de worse mangling of de English language I’ve heard in a long while. An’ dat’s sayin’ somet’in’ comin’ from me.”  
  
Rogue checked him with her hip and laughed. There was a buoyancy to her laughter, almost contagious. Though he didn’t have a good view of her face from this angle, he knew she was smiling, her eyes lit with the twinkling of stars. He knew all her expressions and movements, her bluffs and tells, as well as he knew his own. So, when she settled back against him, the shadow returning to her expression, he wasn’t surprised by the waves of concern that swelled from her and seeped into him. He had to bite back every instinctual impulse to believe that her concern wasn’t for him, because he couldn’t deny that every iota of her body language proved that impulse false.  
  
“Remy.” When she said his name, it was like music from her lips, a gentle caress.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Of course we’re friends, swamp rat.” She wrapped her arm around his back and rested her head on his shoulder. “Ah love ya Remy, Ah always will. No matter what else comes between us, you’re my best friend and Ah can’ imagine my life without ya in it.”  
  
“Bien.” He closed his eyes and leaned into her. His cheek rested against the top of her head. She didn’t say anything, only tightened her embrace around him and rubbed soothing circles on his back. His breathing fell in line with hers as tension seeped from his muscles. Being with her was like being with the other half of his soul. Complete. Whole. The shroud of darkness lifted a minuscule amount. He was by no means better. This would probably be a battle he fought for the rest of his life. But, in this time and place, in her arms, he was safe. “Bien.”  
  
Because, even if this was all they would ever be, at this moment, it was—good.


	6. The Tides of Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Together again, Rogue and Remy spend the day together. As they picnic along the bank of the Mississippi, they can't help but be swept up in the tides of memory.

In a life where the bad days seemed to out number the good, a life where storm clouds perpetually gathered on the horizon, good days were meant to be savoured. Like a fine wine, these days ought to be lingered over, every subtle nuance explored, and the experience shared. On the mornings when the promise of a good day rose with the sun, Remy found that there really was only one person with whom he wanted to share—his chère, his coeur, his Rogue. 

Back into the swing of their separate routines, he had scarcely seen her since their return from Paraíso. Her absence ached like an old wound acting up with the change of the weather. The passing days had been filled with a myriad of minor missions and grey skies, so when he woke to the sun breaking through the cloud cover with the promise of a glorious dawn, Remy knew that today was going to be one of those rare good days. He didn’t plan to miss a moment of it. 

Which, was how he found himself on the Mansion grounds with a picnic basket at his feet. From where he stood he could see Rogue’s window. Not that he could see into the room, the angle and curtains obscured the interior view. For which he was grateful. She’d never let him hear the end of it, if she thought that had been his intent. He stared at the window for a moment longer, wishing for a sign that the gesture would come across as romantic rather than voyeuristic. Things were going well between them and he wanted to do something special for her. He wanted to romance her in the way she deserved. With a shrug, Remy, rolled a handful of pebbles between his fingers as he selected one. 

Remy tossed the small stone at Rogue’s window. Thanks to all his years of practice, his aim was true and the pebble bounced off the window with a small tnk. With no sign that the occupant within had noticed the sound, he continued tossing pebbles in a rapid tattoo until his hand was empty. It was always a slightly odd sensation to be throwing things and not charging them, but all he wanted to do was catch her attention not blow out her window. Despite the lack of explosion, it only took the handful of pebbles before the curtains twitched. 

“Good morning, ma colombe,” Remy called up to the silhouette of the belle femme hovering behind the curtains. 

At the sound of his voice, Rogue flung back her curtains and threw open the window. Though she squinted into the brilliant yellows of a new dawn on the horizon, her green eyes were sharp and ready to snap. Her hair was a frazzled mess of curls. The white streak gleamed gold in the early morning light. She tugged at the belt of her robe and cinched it tight. The swell of her breasts were evident under the v of her robe. 

“Swamp rat! What do ya think you’re doin’?” She hissed, trying to keep her voice low, but failing to keep the flush of irritation from her face. 

She was gorgeous. Remy wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss her senseless. Unfortunately he was the one who’d end up senseless with such a reckless kiss. 

“Didya fall asleep down there?” Framed by the window, she stood with hands on her hips and staring down at the helpless fool in love. 

Remy shook his head, his auburn hair momentarily obscuring his vision. He’d been so lost in thought that he’d forgotten they were in the middle of a conversation. Taking a second to cast his best devil may care grin in her direction, he held up the picnic basket. “It’s goin’ t’ be a gorgeous day, chère, t’ought we could take advantage of it. If we escape before de others wake, we might actually get some time alone.” 

She huffed, blowing the white fringe out of her eyes. The corner of her lips quirked up in a smile despite her best efforts to appear stern, if not downright annoyed. He knew he could win her over. She’d known it too. 

Rogue turned, purposely giving Remy a nice view of her cinched waist and the drape of the robe over her backside. Before he could scale the side of the Mansion and follow her inside, she glanced over her shoulder with a toss of her head. “You stay there, sugah. Ah’m gonna get dressed.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He winked saucily and didn’t attempt to hide the good natured leer. And, though he couldn’t see her expression, he knew that Rogue enjoyed the facts that she was able to drive him wild. It was all part of their repartee—the teasing, the banter, the back and forth. Each of them seeing how far they could push the other until they responded with either passion or anger. Recently, passion usually won out. 

Remy leaned against the side of the building in a comfortable insouciance and shuffled a deck of cards. He grinned to himself. There was no doubt now that today was going to be a good day. It was already off to a great start. 

It wasn’t long before Rogue had leapt out of her window and landed gently on the ground below. She sauntered across the few steps of lawn between them, her hips swayed in a mesmerizing rhythm as she walked. When she reached him, Rogue wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. Remy swallowed back the moan of desire that rose in his throat. She smiled cheekily, knowing exactly what she was doing to him. 

“Feelin’ nostalgic chère?” He was grateful for his own gloves and long sleeve shirt as he returned the embrace and pulled her against him. Inhaling the scent of her sweetness, he rested his chin on the top of her head. The sharp bristles running along his jaw and chin caught at the silky strands of her hair. His fingers trailed along the sliver of exposed skin between her shorts and shirt. She shivered at his touch and pressed closer to him. Back in the early days when he’d joined the X-men, it had often felt like there were always picnics and swim parties to while away the moments between missions and training sessions. Rogue would wear the shortest of cut-off shorts and cropped tops that revealed tantalizing slivers of skin. In those days, she’d pushed him away, constantly keeping him at arm’s length. Protecting herself as much as she was trying to protect him. These days, she covered up more, but she allowed him closer. 

“Ya could say that swamp rat. Whatchya got planned?” Her honeyed drawl warmed him more than the burgeoning sunrise ever could. 

“Well, I packed a picnic. Any suggestions where we might indulge wit’out de rest of the X-men joinin’ in?” He chuckled as he recalled their attempts at dates early in their flirtation. They were scarcely allowed a moment alone. 

She scanned the southern horizon, as she mulled over the question. After a moment’s hesitation, she pushed on. “Ah know just the place, sugah, though it’s a bit of a trek.”

Languidly, he brushed a stray strand of white hair back in place and leaned in close to whisper low and husky in her ear. “I’ll go wit’ you anywhere, mon coeur. Even to de end of de earth.” 

“Ain’t quite the ends of the earth, swamp rat, but it’s good to know.” There was a flirtatious lilt to her drawl. She grabbed his hand and led the way away from the Mansion. 

On the banks of the Mississippi River, with the remnants of their picnic lunch packed away, Rogue laid on her back with her head pillowed on her folded arms. The exposed skin of Rogue’s face and legs, her bare arms and midriff, was taking on a flattering pink flush. With her eyes closed, she sang along to the old country songs playing on the radio. Remy wasn’t exactly familiar with the specific songs—only hearing them in passing fits and starts over the years—but when she sang along, he conceded that it was the best music in the world. 

Lounging on his side with his head propped on his hand, he took in every inch of her. He wished he could draw so that he might record every intimate detail of the scene before him. His fingers itched with the desire to sketch those forbidden, sensuous swells and curves—as if by the very act of drawing her, he could caress her. Sans pencil and paper, Remy reached across the red-checked picnic blanket and ran his fingers through the corona of hair splayed halo-like across the blanket and around her head. He twisted a curl around his fingers.

She stopped singing and heaved herself up with a heavy sigh that pulled more out of her than a simple breath. With a weary flick of her gloveless hand, she held him at bay. All traces of their afternoon idylls faded from existence, leaving only the weight of her mutation in its wake. “Remy…” she warned.

He withdrew his hand and raked his fingers through his hair, pulling the strands taut against his scalp, unable and unwilling to diffuse the building buzz of exasperation in any other way. It was just that he wanted to lavish on her everything she deserved and more. And yet, he felt stymied every time he tried. “Just your hair, chère.”

It was an old refrain they both knew all too well. Today was about her and she had wanted to feel the sun on her bare skin without fear. “You promised…” 

“I know, I know….look, don’ touch.” His words exuded a vexation he hadn’t meant to express. He wasn’t being fair; after all, he wasn’t the only one who was frustrated by the protective distance. 

Anger flared in her bright eyes, then faded to hurt, before clouding over into a blank wariness meant to keep him away. Rogue deflated, drawing herself inward as though trying to take up as little space as possible. 

Remy winced and the plague of internal voices berated him for hurting her again. He ignored the mental taunts, knowing that he would need to deal with them later when Rogue wasn’t trying to withdraw from him. He’d never meant to let his frustration come through. Too late to take back the unintentional words, he offered understanding in the form of actions instead. Rearranging the picnic blanket, he draped it over her shoulders, covering her bare skin. Rogue clutched at the material from inside the protective barrier and pulled it tight around her, creating a red-checked cocoon. Careful not to make even the most minute skin contact, Remy wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. It was still damp from her earlier swim and she smelled of sun and sweat. 

Swathed under the protective layers of material, the tension eased from her shoulders as she relaxed into his strong embrace. The rope hanging from the bough of a nearby tree creaked and groaned in the wind and slapped against the exposed rock. Lost in thought and memory, Rogue and Remy silently watched the waves lap rhythmically against the shore. The sun sparked like glittering diamonds from the crest of the wavelets. 

Eventually, Remy broke the silence. “’m sorry, mon coeur.”

Rogue turned her face and rested her cheek against his chest. He caught the quirk of her lips in a sad half-smile. She wrapped a blanket covered hand around his bare forearm. “Ah know, Remy. Ah wish…”

Her words, as though carried away on the wind and waves, drifted off unspoken. What more could either of them say? All too recently they had experienced an unprecedented amount of freedom when it came to touching each other. Their time on Paraíso still fresh and vivid in their minds and along their skin. The ghost trails of touch still lingered. For Remy, it was if her touch had infused into every cell of his skin and ran through his blood with an energy more potent than his kinetic charge. He imagined the sensation was probably more intense for her. And now, they were back to the status quo. Back to _don’t touch_. The prohibition was always worse after they had opportunity to touch without barriers. The memories of what could be lingered like raw, open wounds that even their simple closeness only served to painfully poke and prod and reopen the intense desire. 

“Do you want t’ head back?” Remy asked in a low murmur, keeping his tone gentle and offering her an escape if she wanted one. He wasn’t ready for their time together to end, but if being here caused her stress, he didn’t want to add to it. Besides, it didn’t matter to him where they went, as long as he was with her, He wanted _her_ no matter what. And, if going back to the Mansion was what she wanted, then that was what they’d do. 

“Nah.” Rogue shook her head. Her unbound curls tickled his nose and caught in the stubble of his five o’clock shadow. “Not yet. Maybe just a change of scenery. There’s too many memories here. Ah used to escape here when Ah needed to get away from it all. Ya know how it is.” 

“Oui, I know.” For him it hadn’t been the river, though the ol’ Mississippi would its way past his childhood home as it had hers. His escape had been the rooftops—it was still the rooftops. “Where would you like t’ go, chère?” Tenderly he ran his fingers through her hair, gathering it up and back and twisting it into a bun to keep it off her neck. 

“How ‘bout a walk into town?” Though Rogue tried to make it sound like an offhand remark, Remy sensed there was something more to the suggestion than a simple stroll along Main Street. The slight flush that coloured her cheeks practically guaranteed it. 

“Sure.” He shrugged in an attempt to appear as nonchalant as she was trying to be. Truth was, his curiosity was piqued. This wasn’t the first time they’d come down to her hometown, though this might very well be the only time they’d come with the simple motivation of spending time together. 

The blanket fell from her shoulders as she scootched forward and snatched up her gloves. Remy buttoned the front of his shirt and rolled down the sleeves before offering Rogue his gloved hand. Taking his hand, she scrambled to her feet and smiled at him. “Thanks sugah.” 

Hand in hand, they walked down Main Street. The shops that lined the cracked and pitted sidewalks had clearly seen better days. Rogue’s face had fallen when they’d entered town and found about as many shops vacant as occupied. Halfway down the block, Rogue slowed their pace until she stopped altogether. Pausing in the middle of the sidewalk, she lifted her free hand to shade her eyes and peered across the street. 

Remy squinted from behind his sunglasses in an attempt to discover what had caught her attention. The sun shone brightly, reflecting off the street in visible waves. His temples throbbed and he wanted to get out from under the sun for a bit. But, he didn’t say anything, not wanting to hurry Rogue along. 

“Ya see that appliance shop and the barber over there ‘cross the street?” Rogue gestured at the empty store situated between the two she’d mentioned. Torn brown paper was tacked up over the plate glass storefront. In faded gold lettering, _McAllister’s Books and More_ was scrawled on the equally faded green overhang. 

“Oui.” Remy nodded.

“When Ah was a kid, Mr. McAllister would let me sit in the back of his shop and read. Ah’d come out ‘most every Saturday.” 

Remy couldn’t help but grin at the conjured image of a grade-school aged Rogue curled up with a book at the back of the store. She still loved to spend a lazy afternoon curled up with a good book. “What did you like t’ read back den?” 

“Most anythin’ Ah could get mah hands on.” She tilted her head to the side as she reminisced over childhood reading. “Though, Ah gotta admit mah favourites were the adventure stories. At the time, Ah wanted to get outta here so bad. Never thought it would happen the way it did.” 

He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head. It was odd, he thought, when he was young, he never dreamed of leaving New Orleans. Being off the street, having a home, yes. Leaving his city, never. In the end, he hadn’t been given a choice. 

Caught up in the memory, Rogue continued her story. “Mr. McAllister always said, when Ah was old enough, Ah could have a job if Ah wanted one. Had to leave before Ah had the chance to take him up on the offer.” 

Uncertain how to respond, Remy simply held her tighter and mumbled a sympathetic, “Sorry, chère.”

“Nothin’ for ya to be sorry ‘bout, swamp rat.” Rogue shook off the melancholy which had settled over her as she had recounted the possibilities of the normal life she’d lost. She grabbed his hand and half-dragged him down the street for a few steps before he caught up. “C’mon.”

“Where we goin’, chère?”

Rogue grinned. For a brief moment, the years rolled back and he saw the might-have-beens of the girl who had grown up in this town. “Have ya ever had a cream soda?”

Remy raised an eyebrow. “I take it dis is somet’in’ different than de kind you find at de grocery store?”

“Mm-hmm. Better.” Rogue let him into an old pharmacy that didn’t belong to any chain. A sign in the window proclaimed it also had a soda counter. She led him past shelves stocked with pain killers and cold remedies, ointments and knee braces. Before he could ask what they were doing, they arrived at the back of the shop and faced a scene that looked like it could have stepped right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. “Have a seat, Cajun.” 

There was no one behind the counter, so Rogue tapped the silver bell beside the register and a clear note rang out in the empty store. She perched on one of the stools that lined the counter. It creaked as she sat and appeared to give a bit of a wobble. The red vinyl was cracked and a strip of foam padding peeked through the strip of clear packing tape which mended the gash. Tentatively, Remy claimed the seat beside her. The stool groaned louder than the bell as he spun to face her. 

“Ah’m surprised to see this place still open,” she whispered at a conspiratorial volume. “With so many of the old haunts gone….Ah figured, well, that the soda counter would be gone too.” 

He shook his head with a bemused grin. With the ease that she’d taken to living in New York, it was easy to forget that Rogue was a small town girl at heart. New Orleans might not be New York, but it was a city filled to the brim and bursting with life. He didn’t think he could have lasted living here as long as she had. 

“It’s nice chère.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze as a woman with neatly coifed salt and pepper hair and a name tag that read ‘Iris’ made her way to the soda counter from the register up front. 

“What can Ah do for y’all?” Iris reached for a black binder with the recipes for the selection of drinks listed on the half-smudged chalk board perched behind the counter.

“Two cream sodas, please.” Rogue placed the order without bothering to examine the menu. 

“Sure thing, hon. Be just a moment.” The woman hummed to herself as she set about the task, following the recipe as she worked. 

It wasn’t long before Iris finished the sodas and placed them on the counter in front of Rogue and Remy. “Anythin’ else Ah can get y’all?”

Rogue shook her head. “Nah. Thank ya, ma’am.”

“All right then. Ah’ll be up front. Just holler if ya need anythin’.” Iris retraced her path back up front, leaving the couple to consume their drinks in private. 

With a shy smile, Rogue watched Remy as she sipped her soda. With a shrug, Remy gave his a try—if for no other reason than to please Rogue. It was surprisingly good, better than he thought it would be as he had watched Iris make the concoction. Thinking of other lives and the possibilities that went with them, he felt a bit like the kid he’d never been as they sat at the soda counter holding hands and drinking their cream sodas. 

“When Ah was a kid, Ah used to dream about comin’ here with mah boyfriend…” The blush returned to Rogue’s cheeks, this time it was a brilliant crimson. Ice cubes clinked against the sides of the glass as she stirred her soda with the straw. She studied the swirl of liquid and ice, rather than meet Remy’s gaze. “Thanks for indulgin’ me.” 

“O’ course chère. It’s all very innocent-like.” Remy chuckled. Over their time together they’d indulged in many of their less than innocent desires, so there was definitely something sweet and strangely intimate about not only fulfilling this fantasy for her, but having her share it with him in the first place. They didn’t often talk about their childhoods. 

“Don’ laugh swamp rat.” She lightly smacked his arm, causing him to spill his drink with a more amused than alarmed yelp. “Ya’ve seen the town. There wasn’t much more to it back then either. Besides, Ah was like twelve.” 

Remy sobered at the reminder. Her dreams for the future came to a crashing halt With the manifestation of her mutant powers, she lost this world with its mundane normalcy. With a simple kiss, her hopes and dreams were forced to change with the same sudden, irrevocable immediacy of an explosion. On that day, Anna Marie had, for the lack of a better description, died and Rogue had taken her place. 

At twelve he was making future plans for the first time in his life. His adoption had allowed him the freedom to form hopes and dreams of what his life might become. While her dreams of a normal life were being erased from existence, he was dreaming of the possibility of home and family. 

Of course, in the end, those childish dreams had proved no more tenable for him than they had for her. When he barely made it out of his teen years, he never truly expected his dreams to survive either. On his eighteenth birthday as he was driven out of New Orleans—the only home he’d ever known—he tried to bury every hope fueled dream of marriage and family, of home and settling down. For years, he had succeeded at keeping them locked away, until he met Rogue. The day he had finally realized that he truly loved her, Remy had inadvertently also revived the possibility that someday those dreams of a family and a future might come true. Even now, after all they’d been through together, he could scarcely allow himself to linger on those dreams.

But, Rogue. Rogue lost not only her dreams, but her past and even a great deal of who she was when her powers manifested. She could never go home, never have a normal life, and never know who she might have become without the influence of Mystique, the prophecies of Destiny, and the imprinting of Carol shaping her life from that day forward. 

“Don’ mourn the past, sugah,” Rogue cupped his cheek with her gloved hand. “Ah know now that Ah’d never have been happy settlin’ here. And everythin’ that happened, well, swamp rat, it led me to ya. So, Ah guess Ah’m grateful.”

Remy swallowed back the lump in his throat. His chère knew how to hit the heart of the matter. His own past—all the pain and the bad decisions he wished he could re-write—also led him here. Led him to her. And, yes, for that he was grateful. “Moi aussi, mon coeur.”

Settling back on the creaking stool, Remy took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. She’d shared her childhood memories with him, the least he could do was be as vulnerable with her. To tell her something that he hadn’t told anyone else, even if it was only a nearly forgotten memory of his youth. 

Remy shook off the sting that memories of his past always brought with them. His voice became low and reflective while his red-eyed gaze grew faraway. “Suppose I must have been ‘round twelve or so myself—it was definitely after Jean-Luc took me in an’ I was feelin’ like I might finally have a home—sometimes, on quiet evenings, I’d lay up on de rooftops and dream of de future. About all de possibilities dat were suddenly open t’ me.” He didn’t feel the need to elaborate, she’d been to his house in New Orleans. Though he had tried to down play it at the time, she knew what the house had represented for him. It had been a physical manifestation of his childhood dreams.

Clearing his throat, he continue, “My favourite nights were de ones when a storm was brewing on de horizon. De air would be heavy and de wind would smell of rain. Dere was dis charge in de air an’ I could feel it in m’ bones.”

“No wonder ya and ‘Ro get along so well,” Rogue smiled fondly and rested her head on his shoulder. “Guess that explains a few things about ya, swamp rat.” 

He grinned. She was right about that. 

“Would you like t’ go…t’ go t’ New Orleans wit’ me?” He had almost said home, but the word stuck in his throat. New Orleans wasn’t _home_ anymore and he didn’t know when that had happened. Even when he was still banished, he’d considered the Crescent City as the home of his heart. The city would always be part of him, it ran through his veins like the energy that pulsed deep within him with every beat of his heart. But, it didn’t hold the same sway over him. 

Rogue squeezed his hand, and that’s when it struck him. He’d given his heart to another. Home was no longer the city of his birth. Home was no longer a place, rather it was a person. _Home_ would be—now and forevermore—wherever Rogue was. “We could watch de stars come out…” 

_….and dream of a future together._ Though he left the last part unsaid. Even without words, she knew exactly what he meant. No matter what the cards might hold for them, their lives and futures were inextricably entwined. 

She nodded. “Ah’d like that.” 

Leaving their empty glasses on the counter, they paid their bill and headed on their way out of town. Soon they would need to return to the routine of their lives, but for the moment, the night was still theirs. The missions and duties that required their attention could wait for one more evening.

Still, Remy had played the game long enough to recognize when a new hand was being dealt. And, for the first time in a long while, he had a good feeling about this hand.


End file.
